Hope
by Angelinsydney
Summary: Spike promised to look after Leslie, the daughter of his late T.O. Sgt McCoy. Keeping it was not easy in so many ways & in so many levels, but a promise was a promise & he intended to keep it,come what may! Season 3 spoiler! Dedicated to Mermers
1. Big Brother

**Big Brother**

His phone rang. Spike looked at the caller I.D. and knew it's time to gear up for war. Leslie McCoy was calling no doubt to complain that he had ruined her love life **AGAIN**! He answered after the fourth ring, "Good morning," he tried to sound cheerful as he said the greeting.

"There's nothing good this morning, thanks to you," by the sound of it, the young woman was extremely annoyed with him. Spike tried his best to placate Leslie by feigning ignorance, "What did I do?"

"Don't act dumb with me!" He heard banging, _she's thrashing her place_. His surrogate sister was tossing things around to release some pent up frustration. "You scared him off. I really like him, Spike. I really, really liked him. YOU… YOU… scared him off!" She said accusingly.

He gave out a soft laugh, not that he tried to conceal his delight, "What made you think I did anything?"

"Because I know how you operate, ok!" Leslie was not backing down; the outburst coming thick and fast. "You were the last person he talked to at the party last night. After talking to you, he left in a hurry, and now he won't return any of my calls."

"I understand you're upset with me, but later you'll thank me." He pressed a button on the espresso machine; it went to work to make him a cappuchino, the delicate coffee aroma making his stomach growl. "Les, please believe me, I didn't do anything to frighten him off. All I did was asked him five questions, that's all. Five questions."

Leslie was making her own cup of coffee, the instant variety, "What may I ask did you ask him?" She played with the bottle of instant coffee, _at least it's Moccana. _She inwardly laughed at her futile attempt to make herself feel better about the coffee she drank at home. At work, she was a coffee snub.

Spike smiled to himself as he inhaled the coffee before sipping it, "I asked him if he knew anyone called Andrew Wilkins. And, I asked him if he was a known associate of a certain John Cavanaugh."

"So, what did he say?"

"Well, he denied it."

"I'm still not getting it. He denied knowing those people, what's wrong with that?"

"I asked him if he was aware that it's an offence to lie to a Police Officer." Leslie groaned and stomped her foot, "Spike! Grrrr! Ok, what else? You said five questions."

"I asked him if he knew what's on the corner of Gerard St East and Broadview Ave?"

Leslie plonked herself down on a stool in her kitchen; exhausted from pulling in two straight days of overtime, "What did he say?" she asked as she waited for her black instant coffee to cool down a little.

"Well, he said, he didn't know what's on Gerard St East and Broadview Ave."

"Is that the wrong answer? I mean would it be wrong for him not to know what's there?"

Spike sensed Leslie has calmed down a bit, not as angry with him, "No, it's not wrong not to know, but he lied because he was an inmate there for eight months."

"An inmate?" Leslie asked confused.

"He was an inmate. Ok, Les… on the corner of Gerard St and Broadview Ave is what's popularly known as the Don Jail. He was a jailbird, sentenced for the attempted rape of a young woman. Andrew Wilkins and John Cavanaugh were his cellmates."

Leslie couldn't believe her ears. She sat in silence as she tried to absorb the severity of the news. It dawned on her that she really wasn't a good judge of character. Victor Carabella swept her off her feet. Two months ago, he came into the bistro where she has worked for three years as a Manager. He was well dressed, always acted in a gentlemanly way towards her and the other staff and paid her a LOT of attention. Truthfully, she met him online first, and then they met in person when he "came in for coffee" at her bistro.

She knew Spike's information would be accurate but she wanted to know more, "How do you know this?" Her self-appointed big brother tried to lighten her sombre mood, and failed miserably when he said, "A fortune-teller told me."

Leslie has had enough, "That's it! I'm really angry with you now. I hate you. I really, really hate you. I'll never find a boyfriend! I'll never, ever be able to find a husband. And it's all because of you, Mr Meddling self-appointed big brother!" She abruptly ended the call.

Spike was still looking at his phone when Win stepped out of the shower, "Who was that?"

"Who?" he looked at his girlfriend rather vaguely, in answer she playfully tugged a few strands of his hair, "Who was that on the phone?"

"was Leslie," he related the conversation, Win listened while she prepared her breakfast, she was on first shift and had to be out of the house in 15 minutes IF she wanted to make it to work on time. "I'm sorry she's upset with you. But that's not the first time and it won't be the last," she said sympathetically.

"I know you're only trying to protect her but you won't be there all the time. You need to trust her to make her own value judgment." She looked at the time and decided to eat on the run. She grabbed her toast, leaned to give her boyfriend a kiss, "Don't worry, she'll come around. She never hates you for more than 10 minutes." As soon as she finished the sentence, Spike's phone rang, caller I.D. said, "L McCoy." Win winked, "What did I tell you? Bye now. See you soon."

Leslie still sounded upset but was conciliatory, "Sorry, I didn't mean what I said. I still hate you. But I don't really, really hate you." Spike laughed. She did, too, but her laughter sounded forced. _She's upset. Hurt. _They made an arrangement to meet at the bistro just before the start of his shift.

When Michaelangelo Scarlatti promised her Dad, Sgt McCoy, that he would looked after "his little girl" he meant it. The young woman now in his charge lost both her mother and her father within a year of each other. Still only in her early 20's, she had an overwhelming need for her parents. _ I'm all she's got now. _Indeed, Miss McCoy's one significant person in her life was Spike. But in him, she's got a mother, a father, a big brother, a friend and a protector. If anyone wanted to hurt her, they would have to get pass him first.

They ended the call and he looked forward to having lunch at the bistro. But someone wasn't keen on having him there.


	2. A coffee Drinking Customer

**A Coffee Drinking Customer**

"He's here," whispered an 18 year old blonde waitress to another equally barely out of teen brunette. Spike was a regular at Juliana's Bistro managed by Leslie, who he sometimes referred to as "my ward" as opposed to "ward of the State." Everyone assumed it's a private joke between them because apart from his teammates at the SRU no one knew of Spike's vested interest in seeing Leslie sail through life "unscathed" if that was at all possible.

The girls giggled and played "paper, scissors, rock", the winner got to serve "Mike" as he was known to them. Miss Brunette won. She squealed from behind a wall that concealed them from the main dining area. The delighted sound surprised some of the customers; one was heard to say, "Who won lotto?" Miss Brunette peeped out from behind the wall slightly embarrassed and motioned outwardly to the customers with her hands to indicate she was sorry for the commotion.

She composed herself, came out with her pen and pad, approached Spike with obvious girlish crush, "Hi Mike, I'm Gina, I'm your waitress today." She hoped she didn't look silly, but Spike knew what the girls were up to. He smiled and hoped he didn't embarrassed the young girl, "It's the usual, Gina. Is Leslie in?"

Gina grimaced but had the decency to cover her face with her writing pad, "Yeah, she's in. She's just finishing the re-order. Umm… would you like to try our new menu?" she handed the newly printed list to Spike, _anything to keep this conversation going_.

Mr SRU couldn't refuse Miss Brunette so even though it was too early for lunch; he ordered a salad sandwich to-go. "I'll have it at work," he said. When Gina didn't appear to be heading back to the kitchen, Spike engaged her in an easy conversation, "How's school going?"

"Boring mostly. How's work for you? What do you do?"

Spike answered, "I'm in IT… can be boring sometimes."

Miss McCoy came to his rescue, "Hey, you're here," she called out from the cash register. Gina got the hint and turned quickly towards the kitchen with a backward glance, "Coming right up," she said.

Leslie joined him at the table with her cup of coffee, "My first decent one for the day." Not long after Miss Brunette brought Spike's over. "Thanks, Gina. Say 'hello' to Lisa for me."

Gina skipped towards the kitchen to tell Miss Blonde, "Mike said hello." Lisa peeped out of the backroom and gave the loyal coffee drinking Italian customer a wave. He acknowledged it with smile. Courtesy done, Spike turned back his attention to Leslie, "How's business?" he inquired.

"Slowing, this economy has forced a lot of people to change their drinking habit. And then there's too much competition going on. There's a bistro at every street corner. And there's going to be a change of management soon, I hope I don't lose my job as a result."

Spike looked around, there used to be at least 10 to 12 customers just before lunch time but now there's just three, including himself. "Didn't you just have a new owner?" Leslie deftly swiped her hair off her face and tied it with a band in a pigtail, "Yeah, this new one will be the fourth in two years. I've been working overtime to cover staff shortage, the owner can't afford the salary for another waitress."

He felt for his little sister, she's stuck in a low paying job mainly because in his opinion she didn't finish her university degree. He wondered if now was the time to press her to continue with college, he tested the water, "Do you like what you're doing?"

"Yes and no," was the answer he got. "I like customer service and I like food. But no, I don't want to manage a Bistro forever. Would be nice to do something else." She looked pensive, somewhat downcast, imprisoned by her situation. She looked him in the eye and smirked, "Sometimes I daydream that a prince would walk in here and ask me to marry him." Spike laughed, "Do you want me to calculate the probability of that happening?"

Leslie glared at him, "No. You always rain on my parade." He didn't let the comment affect him, "You know I care about you, right? Have you thought much of finishing your college degree? Tuition won't be a problem. You only have to worry about your motivation."

The young woman rested the side of her face on the head rest, letting what Spike just said sink in, "I know. You've offered to pay for my tuition enough times. You're like a broken record," she finally broke into a tight smile. "I'm just not sure it's for me. Maybe a Technical College would suit me better than University. Maybe I should study Business and Management. I've been running this bistro for some time I have practical application for it."

They were deep in serious conversation when a man came in. The new arrival sat at the back far corner of the Bistro in Leslie's direct line of sight. He had a view of Spike's head and was burning a hole in it, Scarlatti sensed it. The SRU Techie dropped a used napkin; he bent down to pick it up and quickly glanced in the direction of the man.

The new arrival was tall, about 6 feet (about 183 cm give or take a few) but on the thin side; Anglo-saxon in appearance, salt and pepper hair, short-sleeved checked shirt tucked inside a pair of faded denim jeans, a pair of well scuffed Timberland boots. Spike noted a distinctive scar on his left cheek. _He looked familiar._ _Where have I seen him before?_ Spike photographic memory "scanned" his mental archive. He was bothered when it came up blank. There was only one thing left to do; he discreetly took a picture of the man. Back at his office he will use facial recognition software to ping him.

Spike checked the time, he still has 15 minutes. But what he really wanted to do, besides talk to his little sister was to have a direct sight of Mr Scar Face without giving the game away, "Be right back," he said, "men's." Leslie smiled, still oblivious to what was happening.

Now that Spike has left, the seat in front of her vacant, she came face to face with Mr Scar Face. As a courtesy, she smiled at him but it wasn't reciprocated. It gave her a sense of foreboding. But at the same time she wondered why neither Gina nor Lisa had come out to serve the newly arrived customer. She went to the kitchen and found the girls uploading tweets, "Hey, there's a customer waiting to be served. Give me your phones, NOW."

Miss Blonde and Miss Brunette whined, "Come on Leslie, we won't do it again." She's not much older than them, at 25, she could relate to the girls' juvenile need to be connected by social media, "Make sure it doesn't happen again," she said by way of reprimand.

Miss Blonde came out to get Mr Scar Face's order, he said in a straight-forward way, "Turkey sandwich, on rye bread, toasted. Large cappuchino. Served with a smile." The dig offended Lisa, so she gave him a Cheshire Cat smile. Mr Scar Face gave her a blank stare that scared her so she quickly turned away, "Coming," she said in haste.

Leslie returned to the table but took the seat which Spike previously occupied, _he makes me feel uneasy, I hope he doesn't become a regular_. When Spike re-joined her, he used his 15 minutes taking more mental notes of the new arrival. He noticed something else_, he's packing_. Spike was sure he saw an outline of a gun strapped on the inside of the man's right leg.

Finally it was time. Together, they went to the counter so Spike could settle his bill and pick up his salad sandwich. "See you same time next week." She kissed him on the cheek much to the envy of Lisa and Gina who were watching from behind the counter.

As he headed out, he sensed Mr Scar Face followed him with his peripheral vision. It raised his hackles.


	3. Mr Scar Face

**Mr Scar Face**

The vision of Mr Scar Face sitting in the bistro, potentially armed and dangerous, nagged at Spike. Unfortunately, he couldn't just question anyone, scar faced or not, without violating their rights. There was no probable cause and for all he knew, Mr Scar Face may be licensed to carry a hand gun.

_He can defend himself without so much as lifting a bicep,_ Spike assessed. When he passed him on the way to the men's, the centre of his attention lifted the cup of coffee to his mouth, he noticed the hand's calloused underside, _evidence of martial arts training._

It bothered him that Mr Scar Face was clearly on a stake-out. _Who is he scoping? I hope not the girls, especially not Leslie._ Spike didn't have to think long and hard; the salt and pepper haired man told him through subtle hand signal. Mr Scar Face pinched the bridge of his nose, with two fingers, close to his eyes, suggesting, "I've got eyes on you."

Spike thought initially that he may be giving the man's actions too much meaning, but his suspicion was confirmed when he noticed Mr Scar Face's eyes follow him through the reflection on the glass window. The eyes moved, but the face stayed dead straight on the cup of coffee. He was unnerved as any elite law enforcement officer who was worth his salt would be. Highly trained tactical police officer survive on quick thought processes and gut feel, _it's good to feel afraid_, _that's when your guard's up and your muscles prepare for action_. Spike kept his eyes on the reflection on the glass window. _I'm watching you, too._

Scarlatti got into his car and he was reversing out of the parking lot when Mr Scar Face came out and jumped on a black and chrome Harley, he instantly regretted not being more alert. He could easily have noticed the motorcycle as it was the only other vehicle on the near empty parking area… now it's too far to see the registration number. _It's too much of a coincidence_, something was definitely up. But he's not sure if Mr Scar Face was friend or foe.

Mr Scar Face parked his Harley in an underground car park then walked about 300 metres to the seedy part of the City. This was where many newly-arrived illegal migrants lived, in the shadows of boarded up shops and in the midst of high crime rate. But if one wanted to live in the shadows, this was where one found refuge. Here, lodging houses didn't ask for identification or credit cards. Here cash was king. And as long as you kept your head down, no one bothered you.

He went up to the second storey and entered a dingy room that hasn't seen a broom for ages. It suited his cover fine, and he's been in worse places. He was about to leave his room again when he heard voices downstairs, "Have you seen this man?" Instinctively, he knew whoever was a floor below was asking about him. He didn't wait to find out if his suspicion was correct. He opened the window, climbed up and navigated himself away from the building via the rooftops. _Better view anyway. _When he has covered at least three city blocks, Mr Scar Face made a brief phone call, "Contact made."

Mr Scar Face felt his neck muscle tightened, he's been on the move for almost 48 hours with hardly a rest. His trip took him from Bangkok, Thailand to Toronto via Doha and Montreal, a nightmarish near 28 hour flight on Qatar Airway's cattle class. Being seated next to the exit door for "more leg room" didn't do much good, his knees felt like they were on fire ever since. Age has definitely caught up with him. He has been a Mounties undercover operative for 18 years_, I can't wait to be put out to pasture._

Bangkok was supposed to be his holiday of a life-time, he was supposed to be enjoying a stress-free vacation for 30 days, but it lasted a mere two weeks before RCMP hauled his ass back to Canada_, just my luck._ Mr Scar Face wasn't cancelling his long-awaited holiday for all the threat in the world, and his Superior knew it, so a carrot was dangled in front of him, "You're retiring soon, here's your swan song, a chance to net yourself the big fish that's eluded you for years."

RCMP had been following the money trail of drug money as they got sucked out of circulation and laundered out of Canada to Italy. Lately, they noticed a trend, several bistros and other known eateries have changed ownership. The new owners were "clean skins," meaning they didn't have criminal records and had no known connection to any mob families. **But**… there was this nagging but…. the authorities couldn't shake their suspicion that the establishments were being used as "Laundromats" of a different sort.

Spike arrived at SRU and was pleased to find Winnie at the Despatcher desk; he momentarily forgot what was bothering him until Win asked, "Hi, how was Leslie?" Damn, he thought. He didn't answer. He did hug her for his "daily RDA of sweetness" as Ed Lane referred to their show of affection. "Tell you later," he said before heading to the locker room to change into his exercise gear.

Mr Scar Face took the train to the other side of town. Only a handful of operations staff knew he was back from his holiday and why. If those people back at the lodging house were asking about him, it meant his cover was blown. Was this his paranoia speaking? In hindsight, he should have made sure but he couldn't do that without exposing himself_. I just have to be doubly careful, and I need to get to Scarlatti sooner rather than later._

Two hours into their shift, Team One had a "hot call" involving an armed robbery gone wrong. On the scene were three hostages, two so far unharmed but one seriously wounded. There were reports of two gunshots fired and allegedly two subjects.

Mr Scar Face listened to the police scanner. Spike was inside the Command Truck as usual doing his thing, "Boss, the subjects are father and son. David Finley, 40 unemployed and his son William, 18, high school students. No priors." They all heard Spike's findings and gave their simultaneous acknowledgment, "Copy that." The Boss, Sargent Greg Parker readied himself to negotiate while First Officer Ed Lane gave his tactical instructions. Sam Braddock was Sierra One, Jules Callaghan, Sierra Two. Raf was tasked for entry.

Thankfully, they weren't dealing with hardened criminals. But they all knew frustrated, hard up individuals who were desperate and anxious about their life situation could be just as volatile. In the end it was resolved peacefully but it took two hours of negotiation on Sgt Parker's part. EMS came to the aid of the gunshot victim, and the uniforms placed the father and son into custody. SRU Team One patted themselves on the back for a job well done, Spike was heard saying, "Good job, Miss Camden."

"Thanks," she said delightedly amused. "Good job, Team One."

Spike jumped off the Command Truck to join his team when he heard, "Scarlatti." The voice was unfamiliar, gravelly and hoarse, _a heavy smoker_. He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Mr Scar Face standing no more than a foot from him. "What the…?"

Mr Scar Face smiled. It softened his face. "Sorry we have to meet this way." He pressed a button on his phone, a split second later Spike's phone beeped, "No need to reply. Just be there, alone."

Spike checked the message from his mysterious visitor, "TYH lobby, Church St. 10."


	4. Face to Face with Mr Scar Face

Paul first appeared as an original character in "Weapons of Mass Destruction." He next appeared in two other stories, "A Pleasant Surprise" and "Treasures."

IPOC is an actual unit within RCMP tasked with investigating money laundering activity.

Everything else was made-believe and no person or persons resembling anyone were real. They were a figment of my imagination.

**Face to Face with Mr Scar Face**

Team One returned to base after the successful take down of two armed subjects. Almost immediately Spike excused himself to go to his workshop, "'need to put my toys away." He made sure he was alone then called the Cybercrime Unit guru at RCMP. "Hey Paul, I'm sending you a photo match it to all existing database, ASAP."

Paul couldn't believe what he just heard, "Ya know we can't use government property for personal use, right? That's a sack-able offence." He laughed at his friend's audacious request. "Hold on, is this a sting?" he asked, a tad suspicious. "You have your own hardware, what are you asking me for?"

The Techie kept a watchful eye on the workshop door, "I don't finish til 9, and probably won't be home before 10. I need an answer NOW. Can't wait." Spike paused, "I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't a matter of national security," he hoped it worked on Paul.

His Geek friend nearly fell off his chair, "You're beginning to sound like Yoh-Lin. Stop hanging out with him, man. It's not healthy." He laughed along with Paul but was also quick to take the heat off his CSIS handler. "Paul, don't make me beg. You know I wouldn't ask if…."

The RCMP Techie almost always found it hard to say 'No' to Spike. "Ok, send the photo. Oh, I've got a solution, text me your passcodes. I'm off in a couple of hours. I'll go to Apartment 7 and use your hardware. This way we're both in the clear." Without thinking, Spike blurted out, "You're kidding right? Me, handover my passcodes!"

"Hey, you need help or not? Besides, if I want to hack it no one can stop me. I can do it remotely if you like." Paul was getting cheeky, but before Spike could jump on the Cybercrime Supremo someone came to interrupt their conversation, he heard Paul type on his keyboard, followed by "I don't have to tell you, right?" or words to that effect; followed by, "Ok, Spike. Upload the photo."

"You'll do it? Without hacking into mine?" He asked to be sure there was no miscommunication.

"Yeah. No hacking."

Spike hit the send button. Within a fraction of a second Paul had a photo of Mr Scar Face. Scarlatti heard Paul whistled, he frowned, _was that good or bad_, he asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you whistle? You don't whistle unless you've got something,"

"I don't have to search him. It's Inspector Mark James of RCMP's Integrated Proceeds of Crime (IPOC) Unit. I don't suppose you're at liberty to tell me what you're up to? Buddy, on second thought, don't answer that. I don't wanna know."

Spike took a while to absorb the news, _that's unexpected_. Before they ended the call he asked about Paul's new instant family, "How's Suzie and the kids?"

"They're good. I'm lovin family life. You guys should visit sometime. It's Tim's birthday soon, we'll send everyone an invite." Since getting married a month ago, Paul and Suzie bought a house in the suburb to be closer to the kids' school. It made him wonder who now occupied Apartment 1 in his apartment block. They finished with a promise of a reunion.

Jules Callaghan, the only female member of T1 came down to find Spike leaning against the door frame, chewing his phone absent-mindedly, "We've been trying to raise you from the dead." When Spike appeared not to hear, she poked his side, "Hey, what's up? Debrief time." He smiled and put his arm on her shoulders, "Let's go then." Sharp as a hunting knife Jules wasn't about to let him off the hook, "Wanna tell what's bothering you?"

"Nothing. Nothing botherin me."

"You could've fooled me!" They walked up arm in arm, straight to briefing room one. He glanced at the despatch desk. Peter was there, Winnie was gone. He shrugged, _goodnight, Miss Sunshine_. He knew she'd be deep in slumber by the time he gets home tonight.

Spike changed into casual street clothes, and put on his running shoes, _you just never know when you need to do some running._ It was a cold night so he wore his black bomber jacket. The drive to Toronto Youth Hostel didn't take long in the off-peak traffic. He wanted to get to the rendezvous early to stake out the place. He found out quick smart he wasn't alone in thinking along this line. Mr Scar Face met him before he got to the entrance, "I like a man who doesn't keep his appointment waiting."

Spike was taken aback, "You have a nasty habit of springing up on people, don't you? Or just on me?"

Mr Scar Face extended his right hand, "Mark James." He accepted the proferred hand, "Mike Scarlatti."

"You need no introduction. Come on, let's go for a drive. Your car." Insp James motioned with his hand for Spike to lead the way to his car.

"Where we goin'?"

"To dinner," was the short answer. "Ristorante d' Costa."

Spike looked at the Inspector, he wasn't sure he heard it correctly, "Dinner at Ristorante d' Costa? You payin, right? Cause I'm not." The restaurant was known for its desirable location, rich clientele and very expensive menu.

Spike mentally assessed the Inspector who was now the very image of a well-heeled businessman. Gone was the well scuffed work man's boots, it's now a pair of Hugo Boss on his feet. He had to admit that the tall, toned and salt and pepper haired man wore his suit very well. It miffed him that he, Mike Scarlatti, now looked like the quintessential Italian driver-bodyguard cum mobster next to the Inspector. He had to give it to him_. It was a very calculated move._

They arrived at restaurant. The inspector deliberately walked two paces behind Spike, who was then forced to open the door for them. Mr SRU felt his blood boil. Insp James felt the hostility and smiled. The older man was beating the younger Italian at psych game.

The Maitre d' welcomed them, more him, the one in the well-dressed suit, "Are you expecting someone else?" she inquired sweetly.

She looked at Spike in his bomber jacket and sort of gave him a sideways glance as if he didn't have the right to be there. Mr SRU felt an increased need to deck someone.

They were taken to a table at the far corner, Inspector James liked back corners, it seemed. They ordered the Chef's Special, a bottle of red, and dessert, "to be served at the end." Spike was surprised to see how charming Mr Scar Face was. The words he could think of were suave, smooth.

Insp James started the conversation with a question, "How much do you think this establishment makes in a night?" Spike looked around. It's Friday night, the place should have been full but it wasn't. Obviously, it was struggling. The Techie shrugged, "I don't know it real terms but I know it's haemorrhaging money."

The Inspector nodded, "You're good at this. But why do you think the owner keeps operating it? I can guess, without looking at the books, this is losing at least CAN$5,000 a week on salaries, rent, maintenance, insurance, stocks. But they're running it. Why?" Spike didn't answer. Mentally, he had put two and two together. The restaurant was being run as conduit for money laundering, the only question that remained to be answered was how_. How were they doing it?_

"The company that owns this owns five other money-losing eateries, including very soon, Juliana's Bistro." Spike froze. Mark James gave him time to swallow the news. "I…. and when I say I… I mean RCMP IPOC Unit, I want YOU to stay AWAY from Juliana's Bistro. The baby-sitting has to stop. Your presence there will compromise our sting operation." Looking at Spike Insp James realised he didn't say it right, but really there was no right way to say it.

The SRU Officer put his knife and fork down, "Let me get this straight. YOU ARE ordering me to stop going to the Bistro. I don't think so. And if you think for one minute that you're going to use Leslie as an informant you have another thing coming."

Insp James thought for a moment if he might have underestimated Spike's motivation for watching over the McCoy lass. "Don't make me pull rank, Scarlatti. I'm asking you nicely and I'm giving you a head's up." Spike didn't say another word. At this point, Insp James called someone on his phone, 10 minutes later a young man joined them at their table, "I believed you've met."

"Carabella!" _What the heck is going on around here? _He looked at the two men with a facial expression that said please explain.

The younger Italian was about 27, a Martin Sheen look-alike, "Constable Joe Di Nozzi, RMCP. Victor Carabella's a cover identity."

Spike lost his appetite, and told them in no uncertain terms that he wasn't interested in what they were doing or in their operation, "but get your hands off Leslie. I won't have her play any part in it."

Insp James exhaled disinterestedly, "She's an adult. She doesn't need your permission."

"The hell she doesn't." But even as he said that he knew he had no ground to stop Leslie's involvement. She was an adult, of legal age and a sound mind. His protestations were futile.

"Don't worry, Scarlatti, I won't let any harm come to her," Di Nozzi reassured him, he actually sounded like he cared for Leslie.

"If you care for her, leave her out of it," Spike challenged.

"Too late," said a female voice. He turned around, there was Leslie standing behind him, looking younger than her 25 years. Spike stood up quickly, "I can't let you do this, Les. Who talked you into this?"

She placed a hand on his chest, "No one, I offered. I promise, I won't do anything stupid. I just need to gather information..,"

"You just need to gather information," he hissed, "do you even know what that entails?"

Inspector James called for the bill, "This conversation is over. Consider yourself warned, Scarlatti. Don't turn up at the Bistro." He raised a finger, "We'll keep her safe by staying close. You do that by **staying away**. Understood!"

Carabella or Di Nozzi, whoever the hell he was, put an arm around Leslie, "Let's go, Dahl." Spike scowled. "If anything happens to her, you'll answer to me and you'll wished that the Italian Mob got to you first." Di Nozzi didn't doubt the sincerity of the threat.

"I'm done here." Spike left the Inspector with something to think about, "I made a promise to her Dad to look after her, trust me when I say I plan to keep it."


	5. Letting Go

**Letting Go**

Spike was fuming mad at Insp James and Constable Di Nozzi but largely at Leslie McCoy for allowing herself to get into this fine mess. He thought back to the day's event_. Hang on! Just this morning she didn't know Victor Carabella was a cover identity. Just this morning she was rousing on me for questioning him last night at the party._

The sudden realisation angered him. It meant only one thing, that Leslie was just turned into a confidential informant. _Di Nozzi was working on her while James worked on me!_ Spike turned the car around and drove to Leslie's place instead. He spotted Di Nozzi aka Carabella's car in the parking area. He looked at his watch_. Mid-night!_ He fumed_. If this gigolo thinks he can stay the night he has another thing coming._

Spike rang the doorbell insistently as if his very life depended on it. He heard Leslie's sleepy voice, "Coming." She looked out through the peephole and was alarmed to see her big brother's frowny face outside the door but she had to admit she wasn't surprised. _Bloody hell, what now!_ She tried to compose herself, wrapped her robe tightly around her waist and exhaled before she unlocked the door. Spike stepped inside, "Where's he?" Tried as she might, she didn't have the capacity to lie well, "Where's who?"

The uninvited mid-night visitor glared, "Don't do this, Les?" He turned his face to the direction of the bedroom, his booming voice carried through the walls, "Oy, come out here before I haul your ass out!" They both heard shuffling noises. Someone was getting dressed in a hurry. Di Nozzi came out looking a little dishevelled but to his credit he didn't look the least bit frightened of the older Italian. He held his ground.

"What's up, buddy?" Di Nozzi's attempt to appear cool annoyed Spike even more. _This guy is obnoxious. _"I need to speak to Leslie. You need to go home," he said pointing a finger to the door while the other hand stayed inside his jeans' pocket.

The young Martin sheen look-alike didn't budge, "I was invited to stay, if I'm going it's because she asked me to, not by her sex-starved big brother." **That **didn't endear him to Mike Scarlatti. Leslie knew what was coming next so she quickly stood between them with her arms outstretched to keep the two hot-blooded Italians apart. "Ok, alright, Victor…"

Di Nozzi corrected her "Joe. It's Joe."

"Ok, Joe, please leave." She pleaded with him with her eyes. Joe looked at her, then Spike and back at her, "Just because you asked. " On the way out, he picked up his jacket from the couch his eyes still on Leslie, "If he gives you a hard time, call me." _This guy is really asking for it! _Spike turned to face Di Nozzi, Leslie admonished, "Spike, he's leaving, it's ok."

Now, it was just the two of them. _What now?_ He's never had to play a parent's role before. He was always the affable, amiable, indulging big brother but now he had to wield the stick. Leslie broke the silent impasse, "Coffee?" He nodded. She showed him the Moccona jar, Spike smiled tightly, "No, thanks. Water will do." _As expected! _Leslie rolled her eyes, "I saw that." She smiled and gave him a glass of water to drink, she made herself instant coffee.

They sat down in the kitchen, "Tell me…. from the beginning. "

She fidgeted and fiddled with her teaspoon, "We met online."

"I know, you can fast forward a little."

"How'd you know?" she asked surprised.

Spike gesticulated with his arms, "'cause we're friends on Facebook. I can see who 'talks' to you. I follow you on Twitter and Tumblr."

"Oh, yeah, of course,"

She continued, "After talking online for three months we decided to meet. He came to the Bistro a month ago and we started dating. Last night after the party, after you interrogated him, I thought he didn't want to return my calls anymore. As it turned out, he was tied up in an operation. He came to the Bistro just before closing and he told me everything."

"Exactly what did he tell you?" She just realised that Spike could appear formidable when he wanted to. Big Brother's arms were across his chest, stood leaning on the fridge, and stared at her unblinking. "He said he was sorry he couldn't return my calls. He was away on an operation," she smiled, "I asked if he was a surgeon." They both smiled at the narrative.

"He said no, not that kind of operation. Then he showed me his badge. He explained that he's an undercover cop for RCMP on a unit in charge of investigating money laundering. He told me that Juliana's Bistro soon-to-be new owners are suspected to be involved."

"Go on," he encouraged.

"He said he didn't want to tell me because he didn't want me to think that he was only using me. But since his cover was blown, by you, might I add… he decided tell me the truth. You know, his identity and what he really does for a living."

Spike's blood pressure went up, "Let me get this straight. He's saying had I not dug up the quote unquote criminal record of one Victor Carabella, that he would have been happy to string you along. Is that it?"

Leslie thought about it for a minute, "Yeah, maybe. May be he'll just be Victor Carabella to me… forever. But since you've quote unquote uncovered his criminal cover he had no choice but to trust me with his true identity."

"Trust you with his true identity," he repeated.

"Don't you get it," she said exasperated. "It's because he loves me!"

Spike's heart stopped momentarily and was only kickstarted by what she said next, "And I love him! So I want to help him." _Blessed Mary_, _Mother of God. Help me!_

He gathered his wits again shortly, "Les, I think he's playing you. I'm not convinced. Because if he loves you, he won't drag you into this. Period. Full stop. I wouldn't drag Win into a crazy situation like this. No way."

"But your situation is different. You're not a detective, you're not an undercover cop. Look at Sam Miller, she works with Yoh-Lin at CSIS. Jules, she works with you and Sam at SRU. Does that mean they're not in love?"

"For argument sake, Sam Miller and Jules Callaghan are both trained and highly skilled to do what they do. And, for your information, both operatives were ALREADY in the business BEFORE their men came along. You're not trained for this. You're being played and I don't like it."

At this point, _great_, Leslie cried, "What is it with you? Do you think I'm so unlovable that you find it hard to believe someone can love me?"

Spike helplessly covered his face, "Les, you know very well that's not what I mean. You are lovable. And I think when you find the right person he'd be absolutely beside himself and would think he's the luckiest guy in the world. But the way you and Di Nozzi met is just too convenient, too rehearsed. Les, I don't want to see you get hurt."

She looked down, "Maybe you're right but you don't know him. You don't see how happy we are when we're together. You don't see him around me. You're making value judgment on limited information. And even if you're right it's my heart to break." _Unbelievable._

Spike scratched his head. The conversation was over, if they took it any further they're likely not to speak to each other again so he did the decent thing. "Ok, let's end this here. Give me a hug."

"Thanks for caring. I promise to be careful. But you have to admit, I chose well. I picked an Italian." _Heavens! Oh,_ _St Francis of Assisisi_. He pushed her at arms' length, "Ow? That's supposed to make me feel better? Don't forget, I know what Italian men get up to!" She removed his hands from her shoulders, "Don't start on me again! Butt off now."

"Ok," he kissed the top of her head, "Good night. Oh, and do me a favour? Lock the door and don't open it for anyone." She laughed.

He arrived home at two in the morning, Winnie was up. "Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked as he came over to kiss the top of her head.

"I woke up 10 minutes ago. I was worried when I saw you haven't come home. What's going on?" she asked with no hint of sleepiness, obviously her desire for sleep has abandoned her. He gave her the abridged version of the day's event. When he finished she asked him to sit next to her, "If you have a teenager who keeps running away with your car what would you do? Say you've done everything. Parked the car in a garage, locked it, hid the car keys; you've done all that but he still manages to run off with the car, what would you do?"

Spike looked at her, shrugged his shoulder, "Put him in jail?"

Win was serious, "Wise parents would teach their teenager to drive. They will give him the tools, the skills to manage the situation. You can't stop Leslie but you can arm her with skills, train her, help her out. Equip her. Then perhaps you won't be too worried. Time to let go, Angel Boy." She got up to go to the bedroom.

Spike followed her with admiring eyes. Win wasn't a genius by some intelligence testing standard, but she was wise. She won't be able to tell the chemical composition of air but that's ok he could already recite the periodic table of elements. What she was though was a breath of fresh air and that's what he needed.


	6. Giosippi Joe Di Nozzi

**Giosippi "Joe" Di Nozzi**

Joe left Leslie's apartment huffing and puffing until he lost steam. He's been working undercover for IPOC for six months, until three months ago when he "connected" with Leslie it was all slow and boring. They weren't making much inroad. That all changed when he met the pretty Manager of Juliana's Bistro, he just didn't count on the Big Brother happening on the scene.

Sorry, wrong! He knew Big Brother was at the Bistro at least once a week. Sometimes by himself before shift or with his partner Raf while on patrol. BUT he didn't count on Scarlatti to be more involved in her life than with the weekly visits.

Things became a little bit, make that a lot, complicated for him for he has committed a cardinal sin; he fell in love with his CI. The idea to "pursue" Leslie was his, this much was true. But he didn't count on more than liking her. _She's so cute, affectionate, warm, easy to talk to and kind, what's not to like? _But falling in love was another matter altogether.

Now that he's turned her into a CI, there's this tug of war in his heart and mind. He could clearly see it in his mind's eye: a huge conflict of interest loomed ahead. Now there's Big Brother to contend with, too. Suddenly, he felt the onslaught of a debilitating migraine.

Joe arrived home. The porch light was on, Mamma left it for him. He's the only son and youngest in a family of three siblings. His eldest sister Maria was a school teacher, married with one son. Her family lived across the street from the family house. The second sister Guiliana was a chemist and owned a pharmacy with her husband, situated five houses down at the corner street. His buddies often asked if he ever felt "besieged" when he's home. More than you know, he'd say. If he wanted to escape he'd book a room for himself in a three star hotel. Clean, nice, and affordable.

Young Joe had it tough with bullies growing up, what with an "unfortunate" last name as his. He was called "Joe the nosy" all through primary and high school. It wasn't too bad at University where he studied Political Science to the displeasure of his family. "Political Science, what's that?" they'd say. "What would you do at the end of it? A politician? Who'd vote for you with a last name like that?" Life-long friends couldn't help because most of them had enough family battles of their own.

Joe joined the Police Academy in his second year at University. The circumstances that led to the decision could only be described as serendipity. Wikipedia describes it as the accident of finding something good or useful without looking for it.

He was laying on the grass on campus ground; eyes to the sky, mulling his boring, uneventful life. He turned his face to the right following a bird in flight overhead just as a gorgeous female was walking past. She was wearing a Police uniform. He must have audibly said "Wow" because she turned to look at him and flashed a toothpaste Ad smile, "You coming?" she asked. He didn't know what possessed him but he said, "Yes" followed by a thought, _wherever you might want to take me. _It turned out she was a guest lecturer on the subject of "Modern Policing". He attended the lecture he didn't belong to and decided right there and then to ditch University life for the life of a Uniformed city cop.

With good high school transcript, great attitude and aptitude and excellent health, he got recruited. He was a beat cop for a couple of years and at 21, was one of the youngest in the Force. Two years of pounding the pavement was enough for him though so at 23 he applied and was accepted to the Ontario Police College (OPC).

OPC as a learning institution was not open to the general public, only serving police officers may apply for a place. The higher education and the up-skilling fast tracked his career from Police Constable 3rd Class to 2nd Class within a year. Everyone in his precinct agreed that it was a promotion well earned, "He always strived to be the best in class," was how his Sargent described him in a letter of recommendation.

At age 26, he was transferred to RCMP Crime Unit from obscurity in suburban policing. It was here he met the legendary Detective Inspector Mark James, who was variously described as abrasive, pig-headed, allegedly disrespectful of authority, and played only by his playbook. Everyone said it's a wonder he hasn't been dismissed from the Force. Charges brought against him occupied one filing cabinet, but in his defence, DI Mark James has been in the Force for a total of 25 years, 18 of that spent in undercover work in a variety of crime units. It's also a wonder the man has not been committed to a psych ward considering the horror, carnage, evil he has seen in his career.

DI Mark James and side-kick and protégé Constable Joe Di Nozzi were referred to at RCMP HQ as "Batman and Robin"; behind their backs, of course, if they knew what's good for them.

This would be James' last case, his swan song. Joe would like to see his mentor-partner go out with a bang, he would like to shut down the money laundering operation, and _for this_ to be the start of a decorated career **but** the success of the operation hinged on Leslie's participation. Could he risk her life and limb?

He didn't know long he sat in his car on the driveway. He closed his eyes after he switched off the engine and now his Mamma was shuffling down the driveway to check on him, "Are you ok?" he heard.

"Si, Mamma. Sono ok," he replied. _Better go in before she calls for family intervention. _Joe dragged his wearied body out of the car, turned his mother around and gently guided her back inside the house. He kissed the top of her head, "Sorry, go back to sleep." He made sure she was safely inside before he headed to his own "studio" in the back of the main house. His concession to a single life lived in the shadow of a protective family.

He let himself in to find food laid out for him, all he has to do was reheat in the microwave what he wanted to ingest. It's morning. Two am. He wondered if Spike has left Leslie's or if he had managed to talk her out of acting as their CI. He decided that if Leslie wanted out, she'd be out. He wouldn't pressure her in any way but he hoped against hope that she still thought well of him. _I am in love, I think._

Young Di Nozzi have had lots of girlfriends who were nice, lovely girls; educated, pretty, witty, from good families; but it seemed no one was good enough for Mamma. "Too thin." "Too needy." "Too tall." "Too blonde." He did wonder how anyone could be too blonde. "Too talkative." After the sixth girlfriend he stopped bringing them home then the nagging started. "What are you doing, you're 25 now. I had Maria at 25." This was followed by "Remember Virginia, you know Salvatore's daughter, the fruiterer?" He'd do a quick about face, "No, I don't. I've got to go. I'm late for a meeting." _I wonder what she'd think of Leslie._

He put the food back to the fridge and made himself breakfast cereal instead. He ate slowly, and pondered his dilemma. The handsome face of Joe Di Nozzi cracked into a tight smile, _**it might work, **_he thought hopefully.

_Let's hope it does for the sake of our lovely Leslie._


	7. A Surprising Turn of Event

**A Surprising Turn of Event**

Toronto had just celebrated St Patrick's Day. A day when young people of all nationalities converged in the city's drinking precinct to get inebriated and later rowdy, in a celebratory way that had nothing to do with St Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland. Local police enforcement agencies were on heightened alert as traditionally there was mayhem on the streets during and in the days leading to it. It was all so predictable. By weekend's end there were scores of people in the hospitals, a number of whom were police officers and fire fighters.

It's Team One's day off, a welcome respite after a gruelling five days of "hot calls". Spike promised himself a sleep-in, which to him meant not waking up before eight. Nothing and no one was going to get him out of bed before then, but his own body didn't cooperate, he was wide awake by five am.

There were a million things in his mind competing for attention. Everything and everyone seemed to need fixing; he was the one, in his mind, to fix them. He started to feel anxious_. I think I'm having a panic attack._ Tried as he might, he couldn't settle his heart to beat slower. It kept going _boom, boom, boom _against his chest cavity.

He turned to Win's sleeping form next to him. He listened to her relaxed breathing pattern, it brought his heartbeat to a more settled rhythm. _She saves me even as she sleeps_. He smiled to himself. He relaxed. His own discipline of yoga took over, he emptied his mind and visually let go of his anxieties.

After thirty minutes of nothing, he got up and padded to the kitchen. Liley came over and rubbed herself against his leg. He reached down to the Canadian Eskimo dog, "Hey beautiful, did you miss me?" Moppet, their three-legged Golden Retriever was trying to jump him; he picked her up, "You're getting too heavy for me. You have to go on a diet." Moppet licked his face. "You're disgusting," he said playfully.

Spike made himself a cup of strong espresso. He carried the cup to the centre of the living room floor and sat cross-legged preparing himself for meditation. He looked at the cup of caffeine in his hands and laughed softly at the juxtaposition of it, caffeine and yoga. _What a laugh! Who am I kidding?_

He drank the espresso, placed the emptied cup down on the floor. He smiled as he observed Liley and Moppet take to their places; one on his left, the other on his right. He sat quietly for a good ten minutes, breathing in and out. Ten minutes was a long as the canines would leave him in peace any way. He got up and gave the dogs their food.

He heard his phone beep, he quickly ran to the bedroom before it disturbed Winnie's sleep but too late she was now awake too. "Who's that?" she asked sleepily. He mouthed "Boss". She assumed for a minute that Spike was being call in for duty then her brain registered if that had been the case it would have been the pager going off, not the phone. She covered her face with a pillow but soon realised she had lost the sleep. She grabbed her robe and followed Spike out to the kitchen, he had just ended the call, "That was quick."

"Yeah, the Boss wants me to meet him at his place for breakfast," he hugged and rubbed her back. "Sorry Miss Sunshine, it'll be quick." She embraced him around the waist. "D'you know what it's about?" He kissed the top of her head before he let her go, "No idea."

Spike went to shower. He came out wrapped in a towel, "Sexy," she called out, he laughed. From the bedroom, he came out dressed in a chest-fitting plain white T-shirt that showed the outline of his physique, layered by an unbuttoned light blue shirt. He wore a pair of ripped, faded denim jeans that really should be in the rubbish bin, not on him. "You've got to throw that away," she said. It was his favorite and he wasn't going to part with it for a million bucks. "I can't, I'll be buried in it," he cheekily added, "If you throw it away, you'll have to bury me naked from the waist down." He slipped on a pair of canvas shoe, the result was casual chic. Some people are lucky that way they can look good in the most ordinary get-up.

He kissed her, and said "See you soon" as he turned to leave. She heard him say just before he closed the door, "Check out what's showing, let's go see a movie when I get back." She said ok but doubted if he heard.

Spike ducked into an Italian patisserie and bought some goodies that could pass for "breakfast". He reached Greg Parker's apartment block in under 20 minutes. He knocked on the door; it was hastily opened by DI Mark James, his brain did a sudden back flip. He took a step back to check the number on the side of the door, "16" it said in gold-plated numbering. _What the…?_ James noted Spike's confusion, "Come in, Greg's in the kitchen."

Greg Parker peeped out of the kitchen, "Hey, Spike." He went in and handed Parker the bag of goodies, "What's up, Boss?" The cherubic face simply broke into a wide smile as he took the bag from Spike, he set the pastries on a plate, "I believe you've met Mark James. And I understand you two started on the wrong foot. Let's start over, shall we?"

Greg continued to set the table, Spike assisted since he knew his way around his Boss' kitchen. The table set, they sat down. The SRU sargent acted as though the two visitors haven't met, "Detective Insp Mark James, this is Spike Scarlatti. Spike, Mark." For the sake of appearances, the two shook hands.

Spike didn't wait, the suspense was killing him, "How d'you two know each other?" Greg answered after he washed down his first bite of pastry with coffee, "We worked in the same precinct a millennia ago. James was two years ahead of me in the Force. Later we went in different direction. I went tactical, he went undercover." Greg looked at James, "And we drifted apart."

He observed the two men. For the life of him he couldn't work out how two very dissimilar personalities managed to work together albeit in the past, let alone became life-long friends. It was obvious that these two were the sort of friends who don't see much of each other, but could at the drop of a hat, pick up where they left off.

His breakfast polished off, James finally spoke, "I apologise for the way I went about my business. I'd be the first to admit I have the personality of a steel wool," he paused. "Everything you heard about me is true. Abrasive, acidic, rude, crude. And some other adjectives which haven't been invented yet."

It was a surprising turn of event, James' self-deprecating valuation of himself was disarming. Spike couldn't help but think he was being ambushed. Nevertheless, he was willing to keep an open mind in as much as his boss Greg Parker knew the man and he trusted his ability to judge people.

"Apology accepted," he said. Spike didn't say anything more, he waited for James to tip his hand. It came soon enough.

"Greg and I go way back. I've told him things about this operation I haven't told anyone. He recommended that I get you on-board." Spike didn't know what to say and wondered whether his Boss had sold him down the river. Greg smiled. It was unnerving since the Boss sometimes has a habit of smiling wickedly.

He frowned.

James continued, "This money laundering operation's very sophisticated. They've managed to find loop holes in the banking system. There's only so much a gum shoe detective like me can do. We need someone who can think outside the square, a lateral thinker. You're the future of modern policing, someone who can hack and interpret information. For all we know we could have been staring at the evidence and still not know it."

Spike watched James carefully, assessing whether the DI choked saying what he just said, he didn't. "The offer is on the table. You want to protect Leslie, here's your chance. But you're still not going anywhere near the Bistro. You may NOT agree with me, but trust me when I say someone in the Force regularly visiting the joint would place her at greater risk."

The offer to engage in the operation was a lot to think about. James stood up, Greg followed. The two spoke quietly, at one point Greg glanced at him._  
_

James went to the spare bedroom and came out with a duffle bag, Spike would find out later it was all of James' worldly possession. The vagabond detective was on the move, he back slapped Greg, "Thanks for the bed, buddy. I'll be in touch." He nodded at Spike who did the same. The visitor gone, Greg joined Spike at the table for a second helping, the two of them had a lot to discuss.

Spike's first question was, "Was he always like that?"

Greg smiled his wicked smile, "Believe it or not, he's mellowed with age." The Boss studied his reaction and told him some stories of years gone-by. Finally, "The decision is yours. I wouldn't want to influence you one way or the other. All I can say is if you do accept it, I'd support it."

Spike looked at the time, Greg noticed. _ Time to go. _He said he's meeting Dean in the City, Spike replied with "How do I let him know of my decision?" Parker said, "That's what I'm here for."

On the drive home, Spike mulled, s_hould I? Shouldn't I?_

Good question!


	8. Covert Operation

**Covert Operation**

Joe aka Victor called Leslie at the Bistro, after exchanging sweet-nothings he asked, "Can you arrange for me to meet Spike?" She held her breath, "I'm not entirely sure that's a good idea." He couldn't argue with her on that point, he supposed she knew Scarlatti better than anyone. But he persisted, "Yeah, I know but I've got to. Would you please? Or, if you like I'd just accost him on the street." The mere suggestion horrified her.

They were interrupted when Gina signalled to Leslie that a delivery had arrived, she acknowledged the waitress before returning to her call, "Ok, I'll speak to him. By the way, where and when?"

"My time is my own so let him dictate where and when. I'll be there." He finished the call with, "Ti amo." Her heart skipped, she determined that this time Spike was wrong_, Joe loves me. Definitely. Not maybe. Definitely, absolutely._

She met up with the truck driver, but was stunned when she saw the invoice he handed to her. _Who ordered 20 boxes of wine? Nine bottles in a box, 180 bottles of wine. _"Wait," she said, "Are you sure these are for me?"

The driver was irritated, "Miss, can't you read. It says Juliana's Bistro," pointing at the invoice. "I'm just the driver. If you're doubtful, call your owner or manager. I'm late for my next delivery. Where'd you like these?" She gave him the direction to the small storeroom behind the kitchen. He came back in a huff to retrieve his copy of the invoice and away he went to his next delivery.

Leslie called the new owner who confirmed that the wine delivery was for the Bistro. _Ok, whatever._ She send a text message to Spike, "Call me." He was getting ready for work when the phone beeped, he called back immediately, "That was quick," she said cheerily.

Spike was certain DI James hasn't kept Leslie in the loop, meaning she wasn't aware RCMP IPOC Unit had made an approach to him. CIs were kept in the dark just in case they were compromised, another reason he didn't like the notion of Leslie becoming one. And, if he were to accept the invitation to become part of the investigation, he'd be another one of those people who has to keep her ignorant.

Big Brother grunted an answer, but though audible to her ears, it wasn't exactly clear what he said. "What did you say?" she asked to clarify. "Nothing," he said, "What's up?" _Here goes_, she took a deep breath, felt the anxiety hasten her heart beats. To ease the tension, she twisted her hair in her finger. "Ah, Joe wants to see you. He said name the time and place, he'll be there." _There I said it._

Spike thought about it, whatever needed to be discussed had to be kept confidential and there was only one place he knew to be 100% bug free, "Tell him tonight. 9pm at the SRU kill house." Leslie gasped. Spike laughed. "Hey, don't worry. The kill house is not for killing, ok. It's for practice. He knows that. He'll be there. Well, he better be."

They chit-chatted some more, mostly of mundane and ordinary things. "Oh, guess what, I just took delivery of 180 bottles of wine. How weird is that?" Spike's antenna went up, it detected something. "Do you have a new owner now?" he asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Something you said," he replied cryptically.

"Something I said?" her eyebrow went up, "Never mind, your brain is always a puzzle to me. I don't know how it connects dots and how it jumps from one thing to another. Love you. Bye, I gotta go."

Leslie called Joe to pass on the message, he laughed out loud, "Geez, he sure knows how to intimidate without trying."

"I don't think he means to intimidate," she said defensively.

"Oh yeah? There are hundreds and thousands of buildings in Toronto, and he chose the SRU kill house? He may not be thinking it consciously but… anyway, I gotta go. Bye, Dahl."

The rest of the day was uneventful for Leslie. The Bistro wasn't exactly rocking with customers. Joe/Victor couldn't have had a more boring day if he tried. He had been following a courier go from one business establishment to the next, as part of a four-man tag team. All they managed to do was confirm what they already knew, they're all owned by the same company.

Spike finished his shift an hour ago, he completed his paper work for the day, showered, changed and pottered at the workshop. He checked the time… fifteen minutes to Nine Post Meridiem_, time to tango_. He locked up and headed stealthily to the SRU kill house, he didn't want to be noticed and asked what he was doing there and why.

The kill house was clothed in darkness. He lit his path using only his mini Maglite, the pinprick illumination made the shadows dance. He picked up movement to his right, and the shuffling sound of shoes against wooden floor boards. "Joe," he said softly.

Joe stepped out of the shadows, "Hey, thanks for meeting me. I'd have preferred a restaurant to this place though," he eyes roamed, a slight smile opened his handsome face. Spike, at that instance, couldn't help but feel an admiration for the younger Italian, _he has gumption_. But Spike didn't return the smile, not till he knew what this guy was about.

The SRU Techie moved towards the windowsill, rested his backside on the ledge. This gave him a slight advantage as the electrical post outside the perimeter beamed its light towards the kill house. "Ok, what's up?" Joe bowed his head down a little, and thought he better get used to being asked "What's up?"

When he looked up again, he saw Spike seriously studying him which made him feel awkward, the last he was scrutinised like this was when the father of his first girlfriend subjected him to interrogation. He was 16 at that time, he's 27 now and not much has changed.

"Well, I want to clear the air between us. To be honest, it was** my** idea to pursue Leslie. She was just going to be my CI but… believe it or not… I fell in love with her. You probably question that and I don't blame you." He paused, hoping against hope that he was conveying his sincerity.

Spike didn't say anything, his position on Leslie acting as CI was clear to one and all. He didn't need to reiterate it lest of all to Joe. The younger man felt the silence unbearable. He coughed to loosen the muscles surrounding his voice box, "I know the danger, and if Leslie wants out, it's ok. I don't want her thinking she outta help us crack this case. I know she's not cut out for it. But she's determined to do it so all I can do is keep her safe."

"Easier said than done," Spike counted the reasons in his fingers," …You can't be with her all the time. You're not bullet-proofed. There are far too many unknown factors and unforeseen variables. Not to mention, she's in the lion's den. Need I go on?"

He added, "I think the only decent thing to do is to talk her out of it."

Now it was Joe's turn to be annoyed, "Don't you think I tried? After you booted me out of her place I had a serious think about it. I weighed things up and I'm sure as hell don't want her to risk life and limb for me or our operation. But she's determined."

Spike repositioned himself, he rested his back against the window frame and his left thigh on the ledge, "So what do you want me to do? I tried talking her out of it too, you know that?" He noticed Joe shifted his position too, mirroring his movement, if not his posture. Joe rested his back against the wall, so he now looked a bit more relaxed, his legs comfortably apart. "No, I'm here to ask for your involvement."

Spike's eyebrow went up, "Who's put you up to this?" Joe's head tilted to the right in surprise at the tone of his questioning, "No one. Why'd you ask?" Obviously, Scarlatti concluded, DI James wasn't the communicative type and had not discussed his own approach to him with his side-kick, "I met your Boss yesterday. He asked me to be involved. I haven't decided yet but now that you've asked… I just might."

"That's news to me", but then he should have expected it. His Boss, DI Mark James never consulted anyone. Ever. Sometimes it made life difficult and in this case, downright embarrassing.

The SRU guy sensed Joe's discomfort, "Don't worry about it. Do me a favour and tell your Boss I'm in. I'd like to be in charge of the technology side. The Bistro has to be rigged with bugs and listening devices. I'll send a Trojan in the computer and we need eyes on the wine delivery. I think that's your key right there."

Joe made a popping noise in his mouth, "How'd you know about the wine delivery?"

"Leslie mentioned it this morning. She made a comment about how weird it was… that she took delivery of 180 bottles of wine. Did the other establishments get deliveries, too? If they did, we need to find out where they ordered it, how much per bottle. I'm willing to bet that's the key."

Joe looked at Spike, unsure how the guy's brain process information. It seemed to him as an unlikely a connection as there ever could be. _He's off tangent on this one_. But to his credit, Joe made a mental note to follow the lead. _I've seen stranger things happen_.

They arranged for Spike to have access to the Bistro one night to fit the spying devices. It would be as covert as covert could be. If it got hinky, there was always Billy, the Tiny Terminator from DownUnder, Raf's girlfriend and RCMP's Bomb Tech. Spike smiled, he could almost hear Billy's excitement in his mind, "I'm coming!"

It was getting very late. They continued their conversation as they walked out of the kill house, across the green wide open space to the parking lot. There was no handshake or backslaps, but they nodded to each other in a friendly way, the relationship meter went up a notch.

They got in their respective cars and both thought that their dinner was now very cold indeed.


	9. The Money Trail

**The Money Trail**

RCMP supplied the devices three days later, to make work light he and Billy practiced on the devices at home, making sure they could get the installation procedure down pat and fast. It was screw, install, test, rescrew until they could do it in two minutes flat. One dark night, Spike and co. committed "B and E", breaking and entering, to install the listening and seeing devices at Juliana's Bistro, Joe and Raf were on watch duties. The SRU Techie concentrated on the counter and the dining areas, Billy had the kitchen and the storeroom. In total, they planted six bugging devices, one camera above the counter where everything happens and one in the backroom.

There was one last installation to do and she was done, Billy looked around. There was nothing to climb on, no ladder anywhere and the shelves weren't sturdy enough to hold her up. Unlike the kitchen where she had the table to stand on, here there was just the boxes of wine. _ That'll do._ She expertly climbed up to reach the smoke alarm where she fitted a tiny bug and a camera.

Climbing up the boxes of wine wasn't a problem. Balancing on top wasn't a problem. Climbing down was because as she jumped off, she took one of the boxes with her. An almighty crash reverberated within the Bistro as the bottles broke in smithereens. Spike rushed in and found Billy standing in the middle of the store room, soaked to the skin with "water". Her lips licked the liquid on her face, "It's coloured water," she informed Spike. She smelt her shirt, "No kidding, it's really water."

"You don't have to convince me," Spike raised one eyebrow. "If that was wine, this place should be reeking, but it's not." They looked at each other, Billy had an "aha moment" facial expression on, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He smiled, instead of answering he asked, "Are you done?" She nodded. "Good, clean up while I go search for the invoice."

Billy went to get the broom, mop and bucket. She ripped the wet box and put the broken glasses in a sturdy garbage bag to be disposed far, far away. Spike searched Leslie's desk for the invoice, lo and behold! He found it clipped to the Accounts Payable ledger, he made a copy, replaced the original where he found it and showed it to Billy. "Here's the start of the money trial," he said beaming. He showed the invoice to Billy who exclaimed her usual profanity. "Fuck me!" Spike folded the copy and pocketed it. Time to leave.

Before heading out, they checked everything to make sure no wires were poking out, that every items were as they found it. Billy remembered to wiped down the kitchen table, where her boot prints were clearly imprinted. They headed out into the cold night, Billy spotted Raf reclined on the hood of the car, looking up at the stars. She teased him about sky watching when he should be watching out for her welfare. Raf smiled sheepishly for being caught "napping on the job". Joe stood hidden by the lamp post opposite, he saw them come out and joined them after he checked casually around.

"Where to?" Raf asked when they saw them approaching

"Apartment 7," was Spike's swift reply. He took the front seat, Joe drove. Billy and Raf assumed their favourite position in the backseat, arms intertwined around each other, lips locked, they came up for air every now and again. Spike jokingly told them that Joe's car wasn't a motel room, despite it being clean and comfortable.

This was going to be Joe's first time inside Apartment 7, to say he was massively impressed was an understatement. He was blown away when the lights turned on and the music played the instant they set foot inside the apartment, all by motion sensor. He was more impressed when the espresso machine started to brew. "How freaking amazing is this? Can I lease this from you?" he inquired. Spike laughed, "Sorry, no. Nothing personal. This is my space to escape to."

Baf sat on the middle couch, the giant television screen came down, Raf announced, "We're done helping. We'll stay for awhile and watch TV." Joe's mouth opened, he turned to Spike, "Did that TV just come down on its own?" Super Geek explained that the apartment was motion sensitive, "When you sit on the middle couch, the TV will come down. When you stand up to leave, the TV will go up after ten minutes. It doesn't automatically assume you're not coming back, maybe you're just fixing yourself a drink." Out of curiosity, Joe asked what happened if you preferred to watch TV standing up. "It stays down, the place is rigged with infrared sensor, it pings you in the room. _ Unbelievable. _

The two made themselves strong coffee, it was going to be a long night. The accidental discovery of the coloured water disguised as wine cracked the case wide open. They entered Spike's former bedroom, which was now exclusively his office. He turned on his CSIS issued high speed, super computer. "Wow," he heard Joe admire his toy.

Spike checked the time, 1 am. He moved to the right wall, pushed it, Joe heard a click, the wall opened and Spike pulled a king-sized bed out and down, "You can sleep here. Be my guest. I won't stay long, I just need to get you up to speed... what we did at the Bistro."

Joe couldn't help it, his eyes roamed. Checking every details of the room,_ impressive._ Spike called his attention, "The camera's working fine, pity we can't test the listening devices but I'm sure it's all good. Now the invoice." He scanned and sent a copy of it to a secure RCMP email account address to Paul, member of Geeks United, Head Geek at RCMp Cybercrime unit.

"Here," he handed it to Joe. He looked at it, back at Spike, back at the piece of paper, "You're kidding me right?"

"Nope, also the wine bottles didn't have wine, it had coloured water. The box and label says premium red. It has the appearance of a quality, high priced wine but it probably costs the dummy company back in Italy CAN$5.00 to produce and ship. The Canadian dummy company, owned by the same people bought them for CAN$250.00 a bottle. Let's make a quick assumption. Juliana's Bistro received 180 bottles, that's CAN$45,000. Multiply that by ten, that's a whopping CAN$450,000 that just got washed legally out of the country into Italy."

The younger Italian said, "Fuck me."

Spike continued, "They have all the legitimate and legal entities and appearances. A company buying and supplying it to its distribution network. Now, proving the dummy companies are owned by the same people would be your nightmare because the parent company would be nowhere near them. It's a good operation. Here's another, I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar that they have organised "retail purchasers" to buy these bottles, at say, CAN$500 a pop. It's a legal sale. The money gets banked into an account, it goes under the radar because it's all legally obtained buying and selling goods in legally established business. Money goes out to Italy to buy more coloured water. And on and on it goes."

Joe face crunched, "Wait, how did you even know the wine had something to do with money laundering?"

Spike smiled, "Sesame Street. One of these things is not like the other." Joe looked confused so Spike explained, "It didn't fit. It's a Bistro. Even Leslie felt weird about it. Why premium wine? And why 180 bottles? Who buys exclusive wine from a Bistro? Elementary, my dear Poirot."

Super Geek turned off his computer, stretched and yawned, "We better get some sleep. Good night. Oh, before I forget, let me show you the bathroom." Joe laughed when Spike pulled two book shelves apart to reveal the bathroom, "Does it get heavy with all the books?" Spike shook his head, "Shelves on rollers and track."

Baf got up when they heard the voices, "We're going. Call if you still need our services," said Billy. Raf looked down at her, "What? you're offering again. We've done enough." He looked at the two Italians, "She's just kidding. We're going to be unavailable." Billy pinched his navel, "Ouch. just sayin." They left without further ado.

Spike turned his attention to Joe, "All you have to do when you leave is shut the door and it will lock itself. Good night."

Alone at last, Joe found clean towels in the rack; he showered, collected his clothes, hanged them to air. He went to the bedroom wrapped in a towel. He checked the wall, no light switch._ Now, this is going to be a problem. I can't sleep with lights on._ At any rate, he was dogged tired, no doubt his body would switch itself off after a while. To his surprise, five minutes on, the lights automatically turned off. _How did that happen?_ He puzzled about it. He got up. The lights turned on. He laid down, the light turned off in five minutes. He got up this time to get his mini maglite. He laid down again, five minutes later the lights went off. He turned on his mini maglite,_ there you are_, infrared sensors criss-crossing the room at about five feet off the ground. Five minutes in case you just happen to be picking something up, tying your shoe laces or you might have fallen down. _ Amazing._

Spike showered, put on his favorite pajama and climbed into bed. He adjusted himself so he was comfortable. He felt the space next to him. There was no one there. _Where's Win?_ He bolted up on the bed, switched on the lamp, no Winnie. He called her on his cell, Winnie answered sleepily. "Miss sunshine, are you ok?" he sounded alarmed, his heart beating loudly in his chest cavity.

Winnie said, "What's wrong?"

"You're not home."

"And you only discovered now? At three in the morning? Angel Boy, I told you I'm staying with Steph, she needs me. Did you forget?"

He thought for a minute, "Yeah, you did. Sorry... miss you."

"Miss you, too. But tonight Steph needs me ok?" Steph was Win's BFF since forever. The two of them were like two rocks leaning on each other. For as long as they each have the other, they would remain strong and upright.

Spike felt his heartbeat slow, he said softly, "Ok, but can you come home?"

Win laughed her loud boisterous laughter, "No, I love you, night night."

"Ok, night night." He went to sleep fitfully.


	10. Little Sister

**Little Sister**

It's been over a month since Leslie became fully engaged as CI for RCMP's IPOC Unit. All she had to do was make copies of invoices and financial records. After work, she followed her usual routine and did her personal errands and then she'd meet with "Victor". They would go dating and then she'd discreetly pass on the copies she'd made to him. But it was getting more and more complicated separating Victor from Joe; and working out her relationships with "them".

Joe solved this for her by being "Victor" all the time; so as far as she was involved, he was always "Victor". Joe's persona disappeared entirely. He also moved away from home and joined a group of other undercover cops in a housing situation. They were now officially a "gang".

Leslie arrived home to an empty apartment with an armful of groceries. She didn't know what caused it, but today she felt a heaviness in her heart, an undefined sadness over the loss of both her parents. It's been four years since she lost her Mum; and three since her Dad passed away. She's only ever had Spike to look after her since she was 22. Sometimes she wondered if Spike put up with her only because he made a promise to her Dad. But Big Brother always told her not to be silly, "I'd still be hanging around till you're a grandmother yourself".

When her Dad was shot in the line of duty, Spike insisted she attend grief counselling; in fact, they went together for a couple of sessions. It helped to know she wasn't alone in her grief; but she was certain she was alone in her guilt. Little did she knew, that Spike also felt guilty for not being in touched with what was happening in their lives in the lead up to his death and her Mum's demise the year before. He also made sure she continued attending even after he stopped going, "You've got to let professionals help you with post traumatic stress." When Paul Bullard, drug kingpin and crime lord had her kidnapped to force her Dad to do the unthinkable, she really thought her hours were numbered. She remembered speaking to her Dad and saying in between sobs, "I'm so sorry Daddy. I swear I didn't do anything," or something to that effect.

She opened a box of photographs. She took one out of her mother, so young, sweet and lovely. "The love of my life," Sgt McCoy used to say. She could still see them in her mind's eye hugging, teasing, and playfully holding on to each other's love handles. It used to disgust her. "Oh Mum! That's just disgusting!"

Oliver McCoy used to tell her how much she looked like her Mum, "Thank God." He told everyone, "God surely must love me because my only offspring don't look anything like me. That would have been a punishment. A living hell."

They were happy, the three of them. She grew up loved, well cared for and indulged. She was doted on by her Dad, the centre of his universe. Her world changed when her Mum became very ill. And she was ill for a very long time. Suddenly, her father was absent from her life. He was working long hours earning the money to pay for medical bills; and when he was home, he only attended to her Mum. She resented the upheaval this disease, this illness has wrought on her family life. Maybe it was her youthfulness and her immaturity, she was 17. No, being 17 wasn't an excuse, merely an explanation. She had no excuses.

Alone, afraid, confused, morose. What was she to do?

Her mother wasn't in any condition to mother her. Her father was nowhere to be found but in his police cruiser and on the streets of Toronto. But her friends were always there for her. They were there to give her comfort, advice and a high. Before too long, she was hooked on drugs and now her Dad's problems just compounded big time.

She put her mother's picture down. She dug deep into the box and pulled out a photo of her Dad and Spike, taken on the younger man's first day on the beat. Both looked happy and young. It was a picture that reflected great hope and dreams. Sgt McCoy looked proud; on the day this photo was taken, he was probably hoping to retire with honours one day having earned his ribbons and decorations for a job well done. But instead, he was disgraced. In the months leading to his death, Sgt McCoy was under investigation for "being in the pocket of Paul Bullard, drug lord and known crime boss". Twenty years of hard work and hard earned reputation down the drain. But it wasn't all lost. He retained his good cop reputation in exchange for his life. It wasn't a fair trade by any means,_ and it's all because of me._

Leslie blamed herself, blamed her addiction. _Had I stayed on the straight and narrow, had I not been an addict, he couldn't have had to sell information to pay for my rehab. _This was the repeating condemnation that played in her mind: she should have been their rock. She should have been there for both of them. Instead she was selfish and immature and stupid.

She didn't know how long she had been crying. She heard ringing, the doorbell. She quickly wiped her tears, "Coming" she said. "Who's there?"

"Tuo fratello Spike." She smiled to herself and opened the door wide. "Hey," she said welcoming her Big Brother. She may have wiped the tears but her eyes were red so he knew she wasn't right, "Come here," he took her into his arms. The very offer of comfort prompted her tear ducts to explode, and before she knew it she was sobbing.

Spike rubbed her back and said, "I can't be this ugly. There's no need to cry every time you see me." She laughed at his remark. He always had a way of making her feel less sad. He noticed the photographs on the couch, "What's this? Going down memory lane? Without me? Shame on you."

"Guess what?' Spike showed her a bag. She knew what was in it, a slice of her favourite cake in the world, chocolate mud cake. She took it from him, "Thanks."

"Care to tell me about it?" They went to the kitchen, she offered Spike water, she knew he wasn't keen to imbibe her choice of coffee. "Actually, do you have tea?" he said.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

So over afternoon tea, she told Spike of her many, many regrets. "Do you always feel like this?" She looked at him with soulful eyes, "No, it comes and goes. I think I'm still in the process of forgiving myself for what happened to my Dad. And still in the process of forgiving myself for not being there for my Mum. She must have died worrying about me. She must have died wondering what she did wrong for me to turn out the way I did."

"Hey, don't go there. You know they thought the world of you." Big Brother came over again to hug her again. She let go of a whole lot of pent up emotions. She needed it. She needed to let it go, to release it, to start feeling the pain and to deal with it.

"This CI business has made me appreciate what my Dad did and what you do. It makes me appreciate what Joe does. I just wished I had been a better human being, if not a good daughter."

Spike wiped her tears, and said something so profound even he himself couldn't believe he said it, "It's all in the past, Les. What matters most is NOW. You're in the right place, right now and you're heading to the right direction. Tomorrow will take care of itself. You're going to be fine."

Leslie contemplated that and said, "What would I do without you?"

Spike smiled and said, "You can always get a tub of ice cream."


	11. Connecting the Dots

_A.N.: Everything I wrote was a figment of my imagination. No slur on any individuals or companies was intended. It would have no relation to anyone or anything that may actually exist. Please do not sue as I own nothing but two silly cats._

**Connecting the Dots**

Leslie, as it turned out, was a natural. She was inconspicuous. To everyone she was just a nice little young lady who did a good job managing the Bistro. She wasn't nosey, didn't challenge instructions from the owners and didn't pay close attention to anyone; she didn't need to, the listening, recording and seeing devices were doing the "paying attention" for the authorities.

A task-force was put together headed by DI Mark James of RCMP IPOC Unit. Then there's the RCMP Cybercrime Unit led by Paul. Then, there's FINTRAC (Financial Transactions and Reports Analysis Centre of Canada) whose mandate was to facilitate the detection, prevention and deterrence of money laundering and terrorist activity financing, while ensuring the protection of personal information under its control. It did this with the banks cooperation, which were required under legislation to report suspicious cash and transfer transactions. Then, there were a couple of Crown counsels from the Prosecutor's Office. Then, there's CSIS whose mandate was to investigate and interrogate anyone it "deemed" to be a terrorist, deemed covered a huge ground.

Out on the field, the detectives observed well-dressed "regular customers" have been coming in for their usual orders and buying a bottle or two of the premium red wine called "W.I.N.O." at $500 a pop. During a brief encounter Spike casually told the Crown Counsel, a smart young lawyer named Angelica Delaney, that the bottle contained coloured water not wine. She asked how he knew. It didn't surprise him when she said, "The information can't be used in court, it was obtained illegally."

A couple of undercover cops have been following the "buyers" in the hope they'd dumped their worthless purchase. After three months of trailing various people, none did! If the buyers weren't dumping them, maybe they could buy one. Problem was this was out of the question because only "select individuals" were sold the goods. The last thing the owners want was to call attention to itself for selling tampered goods or be reported for selling substandard products. Stealing it wasn't an option, it would still be inadmissible in court.

In one of their joint task-force meetings, it was discussed that to get their hands on a bottle they'd have to ask their "inside person" to smuggle a bottle out and to testify in court of what she knew. If she were to do so, it goes without saying that she'd have to go into witness protection for the rest of her natural life. Spike didn't like this one little bit and he let them know it. "No way in hell. When she agreed to this, she committed only to gathering information. There was no discussion of her giving testimony in court and becoming a Crown witness."

"There you go again," DI Mark James interjected, "She's an adult. She can make up her own mind. This baby-sitting business needs to stop." DI James instantly regretted the outburst, if words leak out that Spike, or anyone of them for that matter, had a chink in their armour this operation was screwed. He was right, a certain member of the task-force was puzzled by the baby-sitting inference but knew not to ask for clarification. The insider was female. He, the mole, would deduce the rest as the case progressed.

Spike has had enough of the cantankerous, abrasive, steel wool personality of the DI, most of all, he has had enough of his assumption that Leslie was willing to lay her life down for the cause. Scarlatti's face hardened, "She's not in your payroll to do your bidding. If you intend to put her life in jeopardy, then you can't expect me to stand here and not say a word." The mole was now alert to the fact that Spike was the weakest link in the chain. _He's smart but he has an emotional vulnerability._

"It's **MY** case and it's **MY** task force. It's not going to run without me, and it sure as hell could go on without you! If you can't play by my rules, you can go!" James bellowed. Spike found himself in an impossible situation. If he's out then Leslie was on her own. If he's in, then he has to dance to his mongrel's music. He didn't want to say anything he might later regret, but he left the meeting in a huff. Leslie was in peril that much he knew. She was in too deep now to be able to get away.

Joe/Victor looked impassive as the heated exchange between his Boss and Spike erupted. Leslie was in peril this much he also knew and if her big brother wasn't going to be around he sure as hell would be. Joe determined that Leslie would get out of this fiasco alive and well. He felt a pang of regret for dragging her into this mess of an operation.

Spike didn't know how it happened but he found himself in the cemetery talking with Sgt McCoy. "Leslie's in trouble, I don't know how to help her." Spike sat down cross-legged in front of his mentor's tombstone and absentmindedly pulled the grass growing at the foot of the grave. He didn't know how long he sat there, his mind was in a fog. "You've got to get off your butt Sarge, Leslie needs you."

At the Bistro, she was down to two boxes, Leslie called her big brother. "Spike, I'm nine bottles short remember. What do I do?" He recalled the incident at the storeroom with Billy. _Leslie's neck is on the line._ He had to think of a solution quickly, "Leave it with me, sorellina. Oh, ah... upload me a photo of the label." They chatted some more and ended their conversation with an admonition to "take care."

Spike saluted Sgt McCoy, "Gotta go. Get off your sweet ass, ok?" He went from liquor store to liquor store in search of similar looking bottles. That done, he took them to CSIS lab where they worked to replicate the label. Two days later, he was at Leslie's apartment, "Here, done."

"Whew," she said. Spike hanged around a little longer, hoping his little sister would say something about a change of "assignment" from the task-force. She didn't say anything, either she never got asked or she was told not to say anything. But he sense a distance, he was unsure what's causing the chasm between them. Was it the fact that she was "growing up" right before his eyes or because this case has created a wedge between them. He hoped it was the former and not the latter.

Her Bistro made a total gross sale of $90,000 from the first batch of wine over 15 weeks. Leslie can't recall a time when she's banked thousands of dollars in daily takings in the three years she's worked at the Bistro but now the business was "booming" even the Bank Manager noted the increased deposits. She was impressed, "Your Bistro is doing very well." So impressed she asked Leslie to switch to another banking product that offered a better interest rate, Leslie declined, "The owner wouldn't want me to mess with the accounts. I'm just a go-fer."

Canadian banks were required by legislation to report large transactions to FINTRAC. But the crime syndicate ably assisted and advised by accountants and lawyers made sure they stayed under the radar. Daily deposits never came close to the large cash transactions of $10,000, which would have prompted the bank to report them. The largest deposit Leslie has had to make was $5,000; the average between $2,000 and $3,000.00. But even assuming they deposited a total of $10,000 a day, the "owners" knew they had nothing to fear. Legally speaking, they did not break any laws. The money was legally obtained selling goods via legally established businesses; but just in case, they stayed under the radar.

Four months later, Leslie received another delivery from the same entity called "Toronto Import and Export Pty Ltd." This time the delivery has doubled, she now has 360 bottles of "premium red wine" on stock. Obviously, the first was a trial run, and clearly it proved to be successful. The new bill came to $90,000 which was she instructed to pay in full with a bank cheque. The other nine establishments did the same. The importer now has $900,000 in its bank account. For all intents and purposes it was all legally obtained. It imported wines and sold them to legitimate retailers and it got paid for its troubles. All it has to do now was pay their corporate taxes and bills when they fall due.

Each establishment were bought by different dummy companies, each had their own bank accounts, their own sets of accountants and solicitors advising them. The burden of proof was entirely on the Government's shoulders. Without a willing insider, all they could monitor was the small fries. The Government also had the added burden of proving the identity of the regular buyers, who numbered in excess of a hundred, find out what they did for a living and how they could afford to buy a $500 bottle of wine.

Toronto Import and Export (TIE) Pty Ltd ordered the premium red wines from an Italian exporting company called "W.I.N.O". Although the company was doing a roaring trade it clearly didn't think it was necessary to pay a creative team to think of a creative name. W.I.N.O. was just as good as any. For taking delivery of 3,600 bottles at $150.00 each, TIE transferred $540,000 to W.I.N.O.'s overseas business account. It's all legal.

Once the money went out of Canada, CSIS took over. It followed the money trail from W.I.N.O. to determine whether money was being used to finance terrorist activities. One agent commented that money laundering should be classified as terrorism on its own, regardless of how the syndicate was utilising the money, "It's harming the economy and hurting us."

But the people with the hardest task was the Crown Counsel. One of them commented in exasperation that even if they could prove that the bottles contained coloured water instead of wine, all it would prove was that the Canadian importer was "cheated of its money." And since the importer wasn't complaining, then it was up to the Crown to prove that the Canadian importer and the Italian exporter were in collusion, if not actually owned by the same parent company. But before they can do that they have to get their hands on a bottle using whatever legal means was available to them. They need probable cause. But as far as they were aware, none of the establishments were being used for any illegal activities. A young lawyer banged his head on the table. Angelica Delaney commiserated. _ God help Canada._


	12. In the Firing Range&in the Range of Fire

**In the Firing Range and in the Range of Fire**

Spike took Winnie's advice to heart. One of the first things Spike did for Leslie was to take her to the Forest Hill Revolver Club. There she took a course and then sat for the exam to obtain a firearm's Purchase and Acquisition License, a club instructor assisted Leslie with this process. Spike maintained his distance to avoid any potential for compromise; and also to protect her from his increasing paranoia over her safety.

Five months later, she finally completed the Club's safety course; and obtained an authorisation to transport, meaning she was now permitted to carry a gun. The voice message she left on Spike's phone was unmistakeably excited, she was nearly jumping out of her skin, "Spike, I got it. I got my license." He knew what she meant. He called to congratulate her and arranged to go shopping for a handgun on his day off in two days.

They agreed to meet up at an Italian Pizzeria for lunch. Spike arrived first and placed their order while he waited for her. He saw Leslie as she walked in the door. She almost bounced in, a vision of freshness. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, her deep blue eyes sparkled as sunlight from the window hit her face. She was dressed in a checked shirt that looked a size or two too big which made Spike think it wasn't hers. She wore a coverall on top of it. Timberland boots and a backpack completed the outfit. Spike was delighted to see her happy and care-free. She was a sight to behold, much younger looking than her 25 years and it made his big brother heart worry even more.

She kissed him on his cheek, "How's life?" she asked happily.

"Good, Win and I going away for a few days at the end of the month." Leslie eyed him questioningly, her gaze steady and penetrating, "Whose idea was it?" Spike merely looked at her, "Come on, was it your idea or hers?"

"Mine," he said. The waiter arrived with a tray of food and drinks, "Pepperoni?" he inquired. "Her's," Spike replied. For himself he ordered one with lots of olives. White wine for himself and Coke for her. As soon as the waiter left, she restarted the inquisition. "Ok, it's your idea to go away, where are you taking her?"

"I'm just paying, she's arranging everything. If I do it she might not like my choices, this way I know she likes everything. That's because I'm very considerate, romantic, eh?"

Leslie was gobsmacked, "What's romantic in that?" Spike gave her a playful smirk, her eyes grew wide, "Oh, you're going to propose aren't you? You are!"

"I didn't say anything," he said with a wag of a finger. "You're reading too much into it."

Later, it would be his turn, "Have you been seeing Joe?" Leslie hesitated, she tried to assess Spike's mood. "You're trying to read me," he said, "no use, I'm inscrutable."

She smiled and stuck her tongue out, "Yes," she said. "But I swear to you he's been nothing but a perfect gentleman. He's amazing. He's sweet. He's adorable. He's kind. He's kinda like you in a way. But he's less of a cranky pot."

Spike threw his head back slightly, "No one's ever called me a cranky pot before. Besides if you were me looking after you, you'd be cranky too."

After two hours of bantering, they decided to get going. They travelled together in Spike's car; and left hers on the pizzeria's car park. Shopping for a gun wasn't what big brothers were supposed to do with their little sisters but it was this or worry constantly. They could have browsed online for a handgun but he wanted to see how she handled it and for her to ask questions about the make and the model of the weapon before buying it, not something she could do buying it online.

In the end, they picked a Springfield XD Subcompact 9mm handgun, one of the smallest concealed weapons in the world. It was perfect for her small hands and easy to conceal in her small frame. The reason he also like this particular gun was its "tactile loaded chamber indicator and the tactile striker status indicator" which meant that by feel, even in the dark, she'd know whether it was ready to fire and whether it was loaded.

If it was entirely up to him, Leslie wouldn't have any need for a weapon, but his opinion didn't count for much these days and he was starting to resent it.

He drove her back to the pizzeria where they left her car on the parking lot. She gave him a hug, thanked him a million times and told him "not to worry" about half a dozen times. He watched her drive off, not contented with that, he followed discreetly four cars back. He didn't observe anyone tailing her that much he was sure. He didn't know where it came from but he heard himself say, "God, please don't give me a daughter." He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Here he was in love and unmarried still. That reminded him, _the ring_.

His phone beeped, he ignored it until he was stopped at the lights. It was a message from DI James, he expelled a breath before he read it; _he has a way of rubbing me the wrong way_. But the brief text was more alarming than annoying, "Need help to catch a mole." His reply was direct and to the point, "My forte. My rule book." He heard nothing more.

Fifteen minutes later, he was home and who would be standing at the main entrance but DI James, dressed in a janitor's uniform complete with cleaning paraphernalia. They didn't acknowledge each other. Spike went inside without so much as a glance at the older man; however, he held the door open for him. James pulled his cleaning cart in, mouthed "thanks" so it all appeared innocent to anyone who might be watching.

James left his cleaning cart under the stairs, and followed Spike to Apartment 7. If he was impressed, he didn't openly show it. They headed straight to the kitchen where Spike's cappuccino was brewing. "Wha'd you like?" he asked casually. James didn't hesitate, "Same."

Spike handed him the first brew for which the detective was grateful. Super Geek watched his guest closely, he looked haggard, "When was the last time you had a decent sleep?" The DI gave him a crooked smile, "More or less... 20 years ago."

They remained standing. James pulled something out of his back pocket, he smoothed the pages on the kitchen bench, "It's the list of everyone in the task force. Everyone who's ever been to any one of our briefings. One of them's a mole." Spike didn't say a word. He let his face do the talking. He knew he was readable.

James saw an expression of interest on Scarlatti's face so he continued, "Three times we organised to pick up the buyers, three times they all went to ground. That's not coincidence. And the owner of Juliana's Bistro is shifting Leslie to another restaurant." His expression changed from intrigue to bewildered; the facial muscles said it all, _that's news to me_. He just spent half a day with Leslie. His brain screamed silently, w_e were together bonding and having quality time for crying out loud and she didn't tell me. _

James' brows met in the centre of his forehead, "She didn't tell you." It was a statement, not a question. "Spike, get back in the task force. You hate me, I get it. But we can really help each other." He paused, drank the rest of his coffee, "If she didn't tell you, she has her reasons."

Scarlatti picked up the list, read through the names with his eyes, no one stood out but it didn't mean the DI was wrong. Experience, gut feel and survival instinct; the greying man has these a'plenty. "Consider it done," he said.

To his surprise, James said, "Your forte, your rule book. Keep me informed. In the meantime, Joe's looking after Leslie…. a little too well for my liking." Spike noticed a slight smile crack on James' face. _He really should smile more_.

Another 10 minutes and James was on his way out of his building. He took his cleaning cart from behind the stairs, let himself out and loaded the cart in a truck that said, "Sol's Cleaning Crew."

Spike went inside his office, turned on his computer, logged on to facebook and messaged Leslie, "Did you forget to tell me something?"

Leslie stared at the monitor for a minute before she responded and only because another line appeared, "I'm waiting."

"I didn't tell u cuz you'll worry & will b upset at me."

Spike replied, "From now on tell me, I'll try not to be upset. Where are they sending you next?"

"Paulo's Restaurant."

"You can't go there, that's near Bullard's old hang-out."

"That's why I didn't tell you, I know you'd object. I know what I'm doing."

"Les, you're trying to get yourself killed. Bullard's out and his men would recognise you. You're not going."

"I AM! end of story. I still love you though." Leslie disconnected. Spike found himself fuming. He turned off his computer and headed home next door.

Winnie was still up watching late night television, "Hi," she said. Spike ignored her. Liley and Moppet rushed him, he shoo'ed them away. She sensed the hostility, so she ushered the two dogs to the second bedroom, told them to stay put and closed the door. Spike was already in the shower when she came out. There was nothing more to do then than to wait and see what mood he'd be in when he gets out of the shower. He came out dressed in his pajamas and completely ignored her.

_Right, if that's how you want to play it._ She went to sleep in the second bedroom with Liley and Moppet. Spike was left to stew – alone and miserable. Two hours later, he got up and joined Winnie, Liley and Moppet. He's still miserable but at least he's not alone.


	13. Peanut Butter and Jam Morning

_The GPS tracker disguised as a rubber bracelet first appeared in the story "Hell Hath No Fury."_

**Peanut Butter and Jam Morning**

When Spike joined Winnie on the single bed, the two canines disapproved but gave way and moved to the floor. He was miserable and was an absolute pain in the ass. Moppet let him know what she thought, on her way down to jump off the bed, she smacked him with her tail. Of course it wasn't intentional but Dad was feeling raw and took it badly, "Remember who buys your food," he grumbled. Win was more forgiving of his dour mood and let him snuggle in. She was still awake but pretended to be asleep, he was grateful as he was in no mood for pillow talk.

Morning came. He awoke to smell of coffee and happy noises. He stayed very still with his fingers locked under his head, just listening to his girls. Win was making toast, he heard the toaster popped. Liley and Moppet were playing in the living room. This brought a smile on his face. The living room was now bare but for a three-seater couch on which to stretch out. When the people downstairs complained, they covered the whole floor area with Persian rugs to soften the sound of canine activities. They owned the joint. The humans were only sharing their space.

He heard Win asked the girls to see if Dad was awake, "Go," she said. The canines bounded into the room, knocking a chair over. Moppet jumped up on him, "Ouch," he said when her weight landed on his chest, "You were told to check if I was awake, not kill me."

Liley had more finesse, she just pulled the blanket off him, "Ok, getting up. Quit it." He got up, and went straight to the kitchen, Win made toasted peanut butter and jam sandwich for herself. "Nice," he said, "thanks". Win watched him bite into the sandwich, "That wasn't for you." He smiled and continued eating. She made another one, he ate that, too. She made one more he ate that again, too.

She stopped making _her_ peanut butter and jam sandwich. "Ok, what's wrong," she said. "What made you think there's something wrong," he said between mouthfuls. She tilted her head slightly and eyed the sandwich. He looked at the sandwich, "Just hungry," saw the coffee and gulped it down, too.

"Michaelangelo, I've put up with it long enough. It's you against the world I get it but you're taking it out on me. It's not fair." He wasn't in the mood to talk but she was right, she's caught up in its vortex whether she liked it or not, and has had to live with the consequences of stuff he brought home.

He gave her the short version. She, on the other hand, had become an expert at reading between the lines. "She's an adult and she's making up her own mind. Do what you do best. Rig the place with your toys. Can you install panic buttons, too?" _Why didn't I think of that? _She removed a black rubber bracelet equipped with GPS tracker from her wrist, "Give this to her, then you'll know where she is every minute of the day."

He took it from her but put it back on her wrist, "It's yours… you're not to remove it ever. You promised me. I can get one for her."

"Still hungry," he said. "You're not hungry, you're stressed," she said wisely. He pouted, "I hate you when you do that." He took the jar of peanut butter and used his finger to scoop out some, she was aghast, "Ah, at least use a spoon."

Did it end there? No, he scooped out some more and fed Liley and Moppet with his finger. "It's nearly gone anyway," he said as a way of excuse. She waved her hand to say she didn't care. "It's my day off, anything I can do for you?"

He turned on the television, "As a matter of fact, yes." The time stamp on the TV screen said 7:15am, the sun was bright and the skies blue as blue can be, looked like it an ideal day to go running…. but first things first…

He showed Liley and Moppet the empty jar of peanut butter, satisfied that no more good thing was coming out of the jar they left him to do their own thing. Spike tossed it in the recycle bin, went to Apartment 7 and came back with a box, "Give this to Leslie. She'll be at the Bistro today. Tell her…"

She finished the sentence for him, "Don't remove it. Don't take it off when you shower, it's water proofed." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm on afternoon shift. I'm going out to run with the girls." Then he paused, move a few of strands her hair away from her eyes, "Remind me not to have daughters, ok." She cracked up laughing, "What brought that on?"

"Stress," he said.

"Remind me not to have daughters with YOU," was her cheeky reply. "You'd be an awful father of girls." She shook her head and thought of her wonderful Dad who gave her freedom and liberty and the wisdom to know how to use them for her own good.

Spike objected, "No, I'd be a darn good father of girls. I'd lock them up." He changed into his running gear which alerted the canines that fun time was afoot. They waited at the door while he tied his shoe laces. "Bye," he said as he kissed her again. "Love you."

Leslie was already at the Bistro at 5am, Gina and Lisa came in at 6:30. Business opened at 7am. This was going to be her last week at Juliana's, Gina was going to take over from her. It was busy handing everything over. To make the transition smoother, she typed up "Things to do" for opening and closing; banking and re-ordering; where to send accounts payable and receivable, payroll and time sheet; and the procedure to follow in an emergency. She printed these and tacked them on the wall. She didn't realised how much responsibilities she carried until she saw them listed.

Victor came in at 7 like clockwork, "Always the first customer of the day," greeted blonde haired Lisa. Since the Italian Stallion Mike hasn't been to the Bistro for four months, he's the girls' new Italian crush but they knew he was taken, "Your boyfriend's here," Lisa teasingly called out to Leslie.

The morning business was slow so Leslie joined Victor for breakfast. They took the corner table far from sight and out of hearing range. It was a leisurely morning meal of big breakfast, toast, scrambled eggs, bacon strips, mushrooms and pot of tea. There was no need to rush as undercover work don't cranked up a lever until crooks wake up, usually 2 in the afternoon. "Are you ready to move?" he asked.

"As ready as I can be," she said with confidence. "By the way, I got my license." Her boyfriend was clearly pleased. "Good on ya. D'ya want to practice together on Sunday?"

"I'd like that," so they arranged to meet at a shooting range in the City. She added, "We're probably the only two people in the world who date at a shooting range."

"Ah, just so you know, we'll be working together. I was hired as kitchen hand at Paulo's Restaurant, since you're in charge, you've gotta make sure we work the same shift every day. I work when you work. Deal?"

"Sure," she said gratefully. Vic's constant presence has been reassuring and has given her confidence. "What are you doing tonight?"

"We're fitting it out with the usual," he said without mentioning the restaurant by name, "Lisa and Gina know about the toys?" Les shook her head, "Best they don't know."

Winnie arrived casually dressed in red cardigan, white blouse tapered at the waist, 3/4th black pants and black ballet flats. The sun was out, a gorgeous day to meet a friend. Joining her for breakfast was Stephanie, her very own blonde Miss World beauty type BFF. They have been best buddies since forever.

Once they were seated, the service was prompt, "I'm Lisa, your waitress, what can I get you?" Win ordered big breakfast and tea, although slim, the SRU despatcher ate a lot. Diet had never entered her lexicon. Steph asked for croissant with ham and cheese and black tea. It was going to be a leisurely breakfast. They had the day planned, next stop the yoga studio, then window shopping. The girlish laughter from their table attracted a lot of attention. Heads turned to look at the stunning blonde and the exotic brunette, even Victor couldn't help but admire the view. The brunette looked familiar but he couldn't place her. _Where have I seen her before?_

Victor's phone vibrated, he answered it and bade adieu to Leslie. That was the chance she was waiting for. Win offered to pay for breakfast, Steph obliged with, "Sure, I'll get lunch."

She went to the counter and caught up with Leslie. "Hey, I've got something for you." She checked they were alone. Win took the rubber bracelet out of the box and put it on Leslie's wrist. "Don't remove it, ok? Not even in the shower. It's water proofed." Win didn't let go of her arm, "Promise me."

Leslie smiled, she looked almost embarrassed, "Promise."

"Look I have one, too." An understanding passed between them. Just as Lisa was coming out of the backroom, she overheard Win say, "I'm paying for table 9." She handed her credit card over. Leslie completed the transaction and gave her back the card and the receipt, "Thanks for coming," the eyes conveyed the double meaning.


	14. Unmitigated Suffering

_Spoiler alert for Season 3 "No Promises"_

**Unmitigated Suffering**

There was no doubt who Paulo's Restaurant was named after, Paul Bullard, that's who. The man who killed her father was a well-known, well-connected crime king pin. He controlled the drug market in inner city Toronto. He should have been in jail for life for killing a cop but one of his men took the fall for him in exchange for monthly stipend for his mother, wife and children. Paul was jailed for possession, that was pathetically all that the Crown Counsel could make stick on the Teflon criminal. After just two years, he was out and back at the business end of the illegal drugs trade_. _

Leslie drove past the restaurant and saw Bullard holding court, surrounded by his lackey. She stopped her car a safe distance to observe, to watch closely what he did and with whom. It's been two years, no, nearly three since the murder of her father but the fervour of her heartache has not reduced to ember, it was still smouldering. She knew the slightest wisp of wind would blow it to a raging inferno. She watched Paul, and saw not a man but a mistake. _A festering sore. A blight on humanity. That's what he is and will ever be. A waste of space._

This undercover thing was all new to her, everything was unquantifiable. Every misstep could cost a life, hers in the main. But it didn't matter. He would pay and he would pay dearly. But for that to happen, she had to be good. She had to be prepared.

It was getting late in the afternoon. She knew she must make a move to attend to her self-defence classes. Billy would be worried if she didn't turn up on time. She navigated her way from the restaurant to the Wing Chun Martial Arts academy. Billy was already there.

She smiled at the equally tiny blow-in from the land DownUnder. They instantly liked each other. A solid camaraderie has grown between them, the Aussie was easy to get along with and she didn't take any non-sense. But she had to be careful not to tip her hand and heart, Billy wouldn't hesitate to inform on her to big brother. She may have revenge on her mind, but she was sure it was all justified.

Leslie changed out of her street clothes to her martial arts outfit. Wing Chun was developed by a woman, the whole philosophy being to use the body like a piece of bamboo, firm but flexible, rooted but yielding. This structure was used to either deflect external forces or redirect them. Among practitioners of martial arts, it was common consensus that Wing Chun was suited to the feminine form, balance and structure best. Billy has been a practitioner for years.

Leslie loved training because the discipline of Wing Chun taught her awareness of her own body and its movements. Since taking it up, she noticed how supple her body has become. And she's been able to take the pain, sparring with advocates of Wing Chun wasn't for wimps or the weak-hearted. She often went home from training heavily bruised. Hot bath became her cure-all.

Billy sensed the uncommon motivation. She was no fool, whatever the story was it didn't start at Juliana's. It went further, deeper and had the potential to implode. She would discuss this with spike and Victor tonight.

Night fall came. Billy and Spike committed 'B and E' once more. It would be a long, long night. At hand to be fitted were six listening and recording devices, four cameras, and four panic buttons. Spike was concerned especially about making sure the panic buttons were installed correctly and in a manner that wouldn't look out of place. He decide to place one near the cash register, one in the kitchen, one in the backroom and one in the toilet.

Raf and Victor on stag again, disguised as hobos. "Where did you get this?" Raf cringed when he saw what he was meant to wear up-close, "It stinks, man." Victor chuckled, "I borrowed it from a genuine hobo, ok?" Raf stopped before he could slide the shirt over his head. The Italian added quickly, "Just kidding, I got it from our wardrobe department. But don't get carried away, no James Bond outfit there."

This time, the two on the outside had the riskier job because of the restaurant's close proximity to Bullard HQ. Any minute, one of the gang could come by so "no napping on the job," Billy admonished before they went in.

It was 3 in the morning by the time they finished. They were all bone tired but it was now or never, when they reached Apartment 7 Billy opened up to Spike. "Leslie is showing too much of a motivation at self-defence training and I know she's learning to shoot. This ISN'T just about being a CI, is it? Is there something we need to know? Mate, we're in this together, yeah?"

Victor was surprised at the candid, almost throw-away comment Billy made, he was about to protest when Spike stopped him with his eyes, "Yeah, we're in this together." They battened down with copious amount of coffee. He has a lot to say and a lot for his listeners to digest. Spike told the story of Sgt Oliver McCoy, his mentor, friend, encourager, teacher, and surrogate father in the Force, the man who essentially made him to become the elite officer that he was now.

Billy concluded, "Leslie may be in this for revenge. It may not have started out that way but it is how it's going to end ... if we're not careful." The reality was grim and for Victor it was a considerable weight on his soul. Spike looked into the younger Italian's eyes, it spoke volume. They're in deep shit. Leslie was in deep shit,_ How did I drag her into this?_ Spike softened his gaze to convey _you weren't to blame, you didn't know._

"How does this Paul Bullard connect with the money laundering operation anyway," Raf asked. He was late in the game so there were pieces that still didn't connect for him. Victor answered, "We believe it's his drug money that's being laundered."

"Based on photographic evidence, the buyers are Bullard's men. We'd be able to confirm this when we pick up a few of them for questioning. Soon we hope. We were meant to do that last week but they went to ground." Victor and Spike locked eyes. The SRU Techie understood, that would be his next task, unearth the worm that's betraying his mates in the Force.

"Ok, we think, they're using proceeds from drug sale to buy the crap wine. The retail outlet that sells the wine gets to keep a commission. How much they get for their trouble we still don't know, but the going market rate is 20%. To simplify, for every $100 Bullard spent to buy the wine, he got back $80 in clean money. And you're talking millions of dollars."

Victor continued, "We think Bullard owns all the restaurants and retail outlets. Maybe even the import and export company."

Billy was freaked out, "If Bullard owns the restaurant couldn't he have known about Leslie? I mean he knows her right? And his men? He kidnapped her once for heaven's sake! And she's walking straight into the lion's den."

"I don't think he knows his staff by name. I mean, his management philosophy has always been hands off so we could never connect him to anything. If he sees her face to face, yes, Bullard would recognise her instantly, no question there!" Spike knew deep down he was trying to convince himself, which he had managed to do half-baked. _It could very well be a trap or maybe Bullard just didn't know this Leslie was __**the**__ Leslie McCoy._

The only one of the four who wasn't emotionally involved with Leslie was Raf, and from him came the most objective solution, "If Bullard doesn't know which Leslie was coming to manage Paulo's, why can't we plant another operative to be Leslie?" Well, that made real sense except they were out of time and first they had to talk Leslie out of the gig.

Raf yawned, "It's 5 in the morning, man. I need sleep."

"Come on, you can sleep all day. It's our first day off together in months," Billy pulled him up. She turned her attention to Spike, "Will you let me know how it goes?" He ruffled her hair and playfully pulled her neck towards him, "I will, little Billy." He and Raf high-fived, "Drive careful."

Victor was last to leave, "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry." Spike had a passing thought to milk the situation and make the younger man squirm in guilt but that was just too cruel, so he did the right thing. "Don't worry about it. Between the two of us, we should be able to talk sense into her."

Joe Di Nozzi never felt this bad in all his 27 years. Not when he was hit by a car at nine. Not when he crashed his Dad brand new Toyota at 15. Not when he nearly set the house on fire when he forgot to unplug the Christmas light at 19. Not when he accidentally reversed on a dog in his first police cruiser. Not ever.

He drove to Juliana's Bistro, he spotted Leslie's car in the parking lot. This was as good as any to talk sense to her. He called, "Let me in." She was surprised he doesn't normally come in this early. Nevertheless, he was out there, so she must let him in.

"Go to the back," now it was Joe's turn to be surprised. He nearly didn't recognise her. Leslie cut her long hair. She now sported a crew cut, shaved closed to the scalp, and coloured it red. She sported a tiny nose ring and there was a colourful tattoo of a small dragon on the inside of her right arm, he grabbed her wrist and blurted, "What have you done?"

"It's temporary tattoo, silly. It will wash off over time. What brought you here?"

Joe cupped her face in his hands, brown eyes looked deep into a pair of sapphire blues, "Why are you doing this?"

She couldn't stop it, her eyes welled up before she knew it, "I want justice for my Dad." Joe felt her anguish, it was deep-rooted and implacable. "But this is what not we're about," he whispered, because although he could mentally comprehend her desire for vengeance he didn't have the emotional connection to its truth. "It's not what this is about."

Leslie gripped his arm, "You can trust me. I won't kill him, no, I just want justice. And I will find justice if it kills me."

"You don't understand… that's exactly what I'm afraid of. I can't lose you. I can't. I can't let you do this."

Leslie removed his hands from her shoulders, "Then, we're done." It felt as if someone dug into his rib cage and ripped his heart out. He stood in her presence, shocked and flustered and she turned her back on him.


	15. Plan A: Dry out the Source

**Plan A: Dry out the Source**

Joe left the Bistro downcast and despondent. He accepted defeat – for now. He contacted Spike via Raf, the circuitous method of passing messages to each other being a necessary evil in case someone was tracking their messages. A mole was in place in the task force and has not yet been identified. The message was "Lei sta andando avanti con il piano" Spike's reply was "Mi prenderò cura di lei" which translated to "I'll take care of her."

He really need to sleep, its 6 in the morning and his brain was screaming bloody murder. Like Raf, he's on a scheduled day-off and he prayed the City didn't go into crisis, _not today of all days. _He just had time to kiss Win good-bye before he passed out on the couch. Seeing the state he was in, she took the dogs to her parents on the way to work for the day; maybe till the week-end.

Spike was just about to enter deep sleep when the message from Joe came to his cell phone via Raf, which translated to "She's going ahead with the plan."_ I should've switched off my phone._ He replied quickly and then switched it off. Pity he couldn't do the same to the pager.

DI James had been busy, operating on very little sleep, juggling the balls in the air hoping not to drop one. He needed more help_, who else could I rope in?_ The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the way forward was to snip it at the source. _Its drug money we need to dry out. _An epiphany_, Guns and Gangs!_

He called his equivalent at G&G for a name, "I need someone with a lot of experience. Someone with _savoir-faire_; preferably one who has done both undercover and investigations. Someone tested and tried." He was given the name of an ex-SRU Team One member. Kevin Wordsworth. "He's your man. He's yours for the duration. This is NOT a permanent transfer to IPOC Unit, ok. Clear?" DI James laughed, "Yup, you can have him back when I retire." The other man guffawed, "Well, that's a problem, I can't imagine you retiring. What'd you do for the next 20 years?"

"Don't think I'd last that long. I'm lucky I made it to 60. Anyway, can you arrange for him to meet me in one hour at the lobby of the Toronto Youth Hostel. I'd recognise him." As soon as the call disconnected, the DI logged into a secure archive for the police file of Wordsworth, K. He read through it in minutes. _Impressive. He's my man._

DI James came into policing late in life; he was one of the oldest recruits back in the day. He was at least 10 years older than his peers. He was first and foremost a soldier. He was honourably discharged from the Army close to his 35th birthday. The reason for the discharge was to this day a top military secret. He was 35 when he joined the police force, been at it for 25, 18 of them as an undercover cop. He didn't have long. This was his swan song and he'd do it right. He was going to put away the slithering snake that was Paul Bullard for life. Or, _just away_ in as much as the law couldn't get him on account of too many loopholes in the system.

He went through his tick sheet of things to do_. I need that mole and when I get my hands on him, he'd be sorry._ He wondered if Spike had gotten off his ass yet or if he was too busy child-minding_. He'd be sorry_, that was just his frustration talking; if there was one thing he's really good at its turning snitches around to get them to do his bidding. Oh yeah, they did live to tell the tale but it's the other side's story they'd tell.

Wordy was summoned, "You're wanted in the principal's office."

"Woo, Big Kev, what have you done?" one of his team mate teased. Wordy shrugged, this better not be anything serious, he thought. He knocked before he entered, "Boss? You sent for me."

G&G's Sargent Smith bid him to come in and close the door. "You're meeting DI Mark James of RCMP IPOC Unit in," he checked his time, "half an hour. Here's the address. You're being detailed to his unit temporarily. Wordy, just so you know, we called the man steel wool. You'd know why when you meet him."

Big Kev smiled, he had such a calming effect on his team since he joined them, "I'm not being punished right?" The Sargent chuckled, "No, if there's anyone who needed to be punished it's that cocky new comer who just joined the team. Such a cad."

Wordy, ever the diplomat, said, "We were all 24 once and invincible. I better go if I'm to make it on time."

"Good luck." Sargent Smith thought Wordy needed the blessing.

Wordy finished his meeting with DI James feeling very scratched indeed, that steel wool scraped his skin real good. But he knew a good man when he sees one. He didn't know yet that Scarlatti was one of the roped ins. It would turn out to be fun working with the Techie again.

Leslie went to the martial arts academy almost daily, practicing and sparring. And at the shooting range every Sunday; they say practice makes perfect, that's true her marksmanship has improved a lot. But drawing the gun fast enough to stay alive was another matter altogether. She practiced this art everyday using any kitchen implement she could find.

In three days, she'd be starting at Paulo's, she knew the bugging devices had been installed. Billy had passed on the information on where the panic buttons were and how to trigger them. Victor would be there, _that would be uncomfortable_. She preferred it if he wasn't there but that wasn't her call. She would just have to put up with it.

She was soaking her aching body in the bath when she heard the door clicked. _Someone's in my apartment._ She hastily came out of the water, wrapped herself in a robe, tied it around her tightly in case she had to do hand to hand combat. She positioned herself behind the wall opposite the door, the minute it opened whoever was behind it would acquire a souvenir he'd rather not have. She heard a knock on the door, "Les," the voice was Spike's. _What the hell?_

She felt her blood boil but she tried to contain the anger in her voice, "I'm in the bath, coming out." She came out and presented a smiling face but she knew she wasn't fooling big brother. "No need to be angry, I didn't knock cause I didn't want to wake you in case you were sleeping. Yes, I checked your bedroom, and no, not because I thought Joe might be hiding in there. Peace?" Spike held up two fingers. Big brother standing there with a V sign and a contrite face made her laugh. "Peace," she said right back at him and held up two fingers. "Let me change."

Spike sat down, relieved Joe had warned him of the brand new Leslie. He wouldn't have recognised the girl; _the woman_ he reminded himself; who came out of the bathroom. Leslie came out in a checked shirt tied at the waist, pair of denim pants and Timberland boots. She looked like a boy with her red dyed crew cut hair, black rubber bracelet and in _that_ get-up. She sat across him, right leg stretched out, slightly reclined against the back of the seat, she honestly could pass for a boy; a man he reminded himself again.

He noticed she rolled up her sleeve up to her elbow, showing the small colourful tattoo of a dragon on the inside of her right arm. He was foretold it was a temporary tattoo so he didn't go ballistic. Spike continued to stare, Leslie broke his trance, "What? Are you just going to stare at me all night?"

"Let's go to the kitchen. I could use some tea. Do you have herbal? I need one that has a calming effect." Leslie chuckled, he heard her sweet sounding laughter, _thank God I __haven't completely lost her_. He observed she was moving in a more masculine way. It wasn't brusque but it wasn't her usual feminine movements either. _What are you up to, girl?_

"Les, remember what you told me when we were standing here four months ago? You said you wanted to help Joe because you love him. You offered to become his CI because you're both in love and you want to work with him. When did that change?" Big brother certainly wasn't holding back but at least he's calm.

There was no point lying, if she wanted justice then she'd have to get everyone on side, not off side. "About a month ago, I recognised one of the buyers. He was one of the men who took me. I put two and two together… I kinda knew Bullard had something to do with it." Spike was appalled, the pitch of his voice went up a note, "Les, did you think that if you recognised him, that he very likely recognised you, too? What made you think he hasn't stored you in his memory bank?"

Leslie smiled, "He didn't see me. None of them has seen me. I've been very careful since I became a CI. I've not served anyone I didn't know. I stayed in the backroom and monitored everything from there. Only Gina and Lisa sold the bottles. They're 19, you know, they're legally allowed to sell alcohol." Neither spoke after that.

"Ok, I saw in the papers there was an opening for a Manager's position at Paulo's, I sent my résumé along with five references. I applied as Les Mackay, male 24. I gave a false address. I didn't think I'd get it.. but.. here I am."

_This was just too convenient_, Spike was starting to feel frantic inside, "Let me see if I understand this correctly, they hired you without an interview."

"They interviewed me, online. I told them I'm an American with permit to work in Canada. I can do a very good California accent ya know. Look, I'm not deliberately trying to get myself killed. I told Joe I was transferring to Paulo's, who told his Boss, who unfortunately told you. Geez, if there's anything that'll get me killed it's **your** grapevine." Spike laughed despite his anxiety.

"Look, you've done everything to protect me," she held up her arm to show the bracelet she's wearing. "Billy told me where the panic buttons are and showed me how to trigger them. And Joe will be there, he'll be with me all the time. I'm always careful." She paused to let that sink in, "I'm not suicidal or homicidal. I just want to see justice done."

At the mention of Joe, Spike straightened up, "He loves you, you know." She smiled and whispered, "I know but now is not the time for loving."

"Come here," he said. She came over and he pulled her in for a hug, she tried her best not to cry this time. She's was not going to show any weakness, it would undermine all the work she's done. "Thank you," was all she said.

"I better go. My girlfriend doesn't recognise me anymore."

"Give my love to her, she's a sweet girl. You're very lucky." His eyebrow went up, "Excuse me, she's very lucky she's got me." And then he remembered again for the nth time, _the ring_. _Ah, the ring, better get that squared away_.

He left Leslie's building and raised his collar, as if to defeat the chill but it was a signal to a distraught lover, "I failed. She's still going ahead with it." Joe turned away. He's been downcast, distraught, defeated. Well, he'd better find another "D" word that's positive. **Determined.** That's it! He'd just have to be as determined as she was.

Spike went home, reintroduced himself to his girlfriend of two and half years; dated her, got her drunk on love and wine, and ended the evening making love. When she fell asleep, he escape to his office and started the hunt for the mole.


	16. A Process of Elimination

**A Process of Elimination**

The list of people involved in the task force numbered 70, he quickly scanned through the list and exhaled. Of all of them Spike was only certain of four people's undying loyalty to Queen and Country, well maybe just Country; himself, DI James and Joe Di Nozzi on account of Leslie and Paul Johnson, a member of Geeks United. Everyone else needed to be vetted.

The undercover cops from RCMP, 20; Paul's Team at Cybercrime Unit, 5; FINTRAC, 10 forensic auditors of varying ranks assigned to the task force; the Crown Counsel, 10 clerks and lawyers working on the case on top of Angelica Delaney and her assistant named Lincoln Folkes. Then there's CSIS which has 5 agents assigned to it. Then there's Gun and Gangs. _Gun and Gangs? _ Kevin Wordsworth. _Kevin Wordsworth!_? _**Wordy! **_ _Wow, a good man to work with if there ever was one._ He added Wordy's name to those he didn't need to vet.

The rest of the task force were people handpicked to act as liaisons from other departments, the electronic surveillance team, and the clerks trusted to photocopy evidence and archive them. Who would have thought they needed these many people to clamp down on one crime lord, his cohorts and nefarious activities?

With a list so long, there was no way he'd be able to find the mole in time to secure Leslie's safety and the success of the operation. It would be way too slow going, he then had a thought. He knew someone, an outsider, but someone he trusted. But first he had to tell DI James. He contacted Mr Scar Face via a pre-arranged method, the two of them met at Apartment 7.

James arrived in a business suit. _He's a chameleon_, Spike thought, _able to blend into his environment effortlessly. _The visitor smiled, softening the facial features. His antagonism has weakened over several months, now he could see James in another light. The eyes were piercing blue, the face was chiselled, the jaw was prominently square, and the nose had a noticeable break at the ridge very likely a result of a pugilist's fist.

Spike offered his guest something to drink, he asked for red wine, "to relax" he said. The man stood at the centre of the living room, his hands in his pocket, rocking on his heels. _He's interesting to watch,_ Super Geek observed that DI James owned the place just standing there, doing nothing but rocking on his heels. It didn't escape his notice that he himself has evolved, he'd become a student of character and behaviour. Sgt Parker was rubbing off on him. In the past, he would have been too fluky and unengaged as to notice anything subtle.

Spike came over with two glasses of red, "You have a name?" the DI asked in his usual straight-forward manner. No preamble. No salutation. No hold bars.

"I have a name, but not the mole's. I'm still days away from knowing who. But I have someone who can help catch the mole. He's a 19 year old protégé," he handed DI James a folder. "That's his 'criminal record', I have to add that he's been reformed. And I trust him."

Mr Scar Face perused the file quickly, his facial expression inscrutable. Spike wasn't too worried about his opinion, if he wanted this case wrapped up nicely, he'll just have to get the best people for the job.

"Do you trust him?" was all he asked.

"Unqualified," said Spike.

"Well then, let's get him on board."

That was precisely what Spike expected to hear, he raised a finger to indicate one moment, pressed a button on his phone, seconds later James Dun Levy alias Jamie Dee walked in the door. He introduced them, he thought of Jurassic Park_, kid meets dinosaur_. Surprisingly, there was instant rapport between the two Jameses. There was a brief chat, after that the older James left them to their own devices.

"Ok, you ready?" Spike asked the young protégé. He instantly like the kid when SRU first encountered him creating havoc in the City, in a robbing spree that was still unparalleled on both sides of the border. James Dun Levy was one of a kind. He would have been a waste if left locked up in a juvenile detention centre. Instead, he was rehabilitated and offered a job he couldn't refuse. He's a Government White Knight. These days, he's mostly tied to the Treasury. Where else would you tie down a known robber but to the nation's purse string? Best vantage point to watch over him.

Spike offered Jamie something to drink, then they were off to work. Apartment 7 would be their home-base for the mole catching operation. Jamie was terrifically delighted to be using the apartment, he's always been in like with the place. "Can I stay here till we're done?" Jamie was doing them all a favour, it was the least he could do, "Sure buddy."

James plugged in his Treasury-issued laptop, which had to be signed out by Spike himself. He wondered whether there was a possibility to hack into the country's gold reserve with that toy. He swatted the thought.

Spike assigned Jamie the unpalatable task of hacking into the individuals' work and personal emails, he has lost the taste for it, "It's like eaves dropping," he said.

"That's cuz you're getting old", teased the teenager. But lacking investigative experience though, he asked Spike, "What am I looking for? I mean, I'm reading these emails but I'm not sure what I'm looking for. Codes?"

"You'll know it when you see it. If something doesn't fit, or repetitive… oh, and don't forget to look into the draft boxes. Crooks are known to leave each other messages that way."

Spike hacked into bank accounts. _Divide and conquer. _If they still haven't found what they were looking for, they might have to start digging through people's rubbish bin._ Good Lord forbid!_

Ever the curious bunny, Jamie asked, "Why 's Paul's team not doing this?"

"Because they're part of the task force, they can't investigate themselves."

The cheeky teener then said, "You're part of the task force, why are you investigating yourself?"

"No, I wasn't part of the task force. I was roped in to do this, ok? Any more question, Mr Dun Levy?"

"No, but is there food?"

Spike shook his head, _he does remind me of me when I was young. Except I'm better looking._ That thought made him laugh out loud. Jamie looked at him in surprise, "What?"

"Nothing," he said and left to get all the food he could find from the cupboard, the fridge and the oven.

Three days later, they had a terrific result!

_I don't own James Dun Levy alias Jamie Dee. He appeared in Season four episode "Run, Jamie, Run." I'm only borrowing him because he's cute, intelligent, quirky and delicious looking. All credits belong to his original creator/writer_.


	17. It's Child's Play

_Spoiler Alert: This chapter touched on Season 4's "Run, Jamie, Run."_

**It's Child's Play**

Hardly anyone saw them outside of work for three days, but on the third day they emerged from Apartment 7 with a result! In the long run, it was child's play for Spike and Jamie Dee or JD, for short.

Every free time they had was committed to unearthing the low-life earthworm who tittle-tattled to Paul Bullard, although during the course of the search Spike paused and held back on his antipathy towards the "mole." He or she may be just like Sgt McCoy.

Oliver was a good man, still a hero in his eyes. Yes, he was compromised. Yes, he "sold" information to Bullard. Yes, he put himself and others at risk, but he didn't do any of it to enrich himself. It wasn't out of greed he did what he did, it was out of love. _Misguided? Absolutely. Stupid? Most certainly. But a low-life earthworm? No, that he wasn't._ He decided he would reserve judgment until he knew who this person was and how he or she was doing it.

They both used sophisticated search software. They didn't trawl through every record manually. The software, which JD designed, searched for anomalies. It looked for big transactions, regular deposits outside of salaries and regular wages, regular withdrawals, unexplained transfers between accounts. Anything out of the ordinary, it pinged it. So while they only worked on the tasks between their regular gigs and trying to have a life, the software was working 24/7.

After they've searched everyone's bank records and still nothing surfaced, they decided maybe no one was selling information. _Maybe there was a lapsed in security? Maybe!_

There wasn't anything compromising in the work and personal emails either. But there obviously was a leak, no doubt about it. When crooks go to ground once just when arrests were supposed to happen that might be coincidence. _But twice? No way! No one ever got that lucky!_

They checked phone call logs. There were no calls made to anywhere or anyone outside of family, friends, work colleagues and people's banks, schools, medical centres. No suspicious text messages either.

On the third frustrating night, Winnie came in to Apartment 7 with a tray of freshly baked brownies. "Here guys, I think you could both use some sugar." JD was introduced to Win for the first time and he was smitten. He, in that second of introduction when she flashed him a smile, had a cougar moment. "Wow, thanks" he said.

Spike noticed JD couldn't stop staring at Win so he playfully slapped his head, "She's mine. Go find yours!" Win laughed so hard at their antics, "Are you guys sure you're working? ' She went to the office to make sure they weren't just playing video games, X-box or Playstation or Wii. "Ok, looks like you're really working on stuff."

Before she left she asked if there's anything she could bring them. "I've run out of crispies and Coke and chocolate. And I need more of these," he lifted the empty tray. _What happened to all the brownies?_ She looked at Spike; there was a glint in his eyes. _He hid them_. Spike put a finger on his lips, Win shook her head. "I'll bring some more." And they kissed in front of JD_. They kissed, that's not nice, _JD was unimpressed_._

When Win left, JD asked Spike, "How'd ya get someone like her? Where'd ya find her? Seriously, dude, will ya let me know if it doesn't work out between ya two? I think I have a chance. She likes geeks, right? She must or she wouldn't be with you." JD couldn't stop talking so Spike kicked his heel.

"I work with Win, she's SRU's best despatcher and the loveliest of them all," Super Geek said proudly, "And it's working out between us, ok. Find yourself someone else, preferably your age."

JD looked at Spike like he was out of his mind, "Find someone my age, no way! They're boring." But they both knew why JD wouldn't commit to someone his age, not after what happened last time, not after how he got played by someone called Kyle.

It was a long convoluted story. A grand scheme of theft by a sick rich boy who hated his multi-millionaire step-father so much he played JD to drain him of his money.

JD was 17, alone, lost and lonely. He ached for love and companionship. JD had already gained world-wide fame and notoriety robbing high profile targets in rich venues. He had nearly half a million followers on Twitter watching his every move. They cheered him, encouraged him, egged him on towards riskier and riskier behaviour and exploits. When he connected with a beautiful young follower called "Sage" who claimed to being sexually and physically abused by her father, he fell madly in love. Sage turned out to be Kyle who used voice alteration software to trick him into believing he was she, a damaged 16 year old girl. So in love was JD that he was motivated to kill the bastard who was hurting her. He was going to be her hero, her saviour.

Spike would always remember his helplessness inside the Command Truck, especially after he realised who "Sage" was and how he was using JD. He would always remember his sense of dread as SRUs armed to the teeth surrounded JD and were ready to fire, hoping against hope it would not come to that. He would always remember not breathing until the very peaceful end when he finally expelled air from his lungs. Spike thought_, I don't blame you, buddy._

Anyway, they haven't found the leak so they've got to get back to work. Win came back in with a six-pack of coke, another tray of brownies and some other goodies. It was getting late, so she kissed Spike good-night. "I'm off to bed," she acknowledged the teener with a smile who grinned back like a loony. Spike turned her around and pushed her out the door, "Don't come back, he's got the hots for you." She laughed again, and JD thought the world turned multi-colour, no, actually turned high definition when her laughter reverberated in the room.

Spike saw the look on his face and threw a piece of brownie at him. JD just had a split second to move out of the way, "Hey, that's a waste of goody." He picked up the brownie off the floor and ate it, "Less than 10 seconds rule apply." They both cracked up laughing.

He had to admit, he hadn't had this much fun working for a long time. He might be "old" now, well older but he remained young at heart and JD was so much fun to be around.

"Ok, let's assume there's no mole but there's a leak. How would you 'inadvertedly' send out information?" Spike asked between bites of the treat.

By elimination, they discounted the possibility of a USB copy. All computers used by the task force were "USB disabled" meaning there's no point plugging a stick in where no "hole" existed.

It can't be by fax because everyone who sent fax had to key in their department codes. No one would be stupid enough to get caught this way.

"If the leak wasn't by phone or fax or computers or emails, how else would information leak?" JD liked to paced, back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Spike leaned back on the couch, looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, _if I have to see him cross the floor again one more time I'd lose it._

"What do you do with hard copies?" JD asked. "We shred them." **That was it!** "That's it," they said at once. "Wanna go out for a ride?" Spike inquired.

"Sure thing, man. I'm feeling coop up in here."

They grabbed their jackets and headed out for task force HQ. When they got to the reception, Spike gave his credentials and vouched for JD, "He's with me." The police officer on duty motioned them in, "Working late, huh? Hope you get paid double time."

They went straight into the office, "Ok, where's the shredder?" Spike looked around. "There." JD saw it first. He lifted the lid and there it was! A scanner fitted onto the lid. The paper shredder in the corner looked innocent, but it was a high-tech spy tool. As confidential documents were fed in, they're scanned, and the info sent to an e-mail address. When this gadgetry was first introduced in the market, it was suspected that the nefarious shredder was developed by an Eastern European intelligence outfit. There's a web site that specializes in gadgets for snooping, shredder fitted with scanners and wireless transmitters didn't come cheap, it could easily costs upwards of $5,000.

It was late, early morning to be precise but he had to call DI James with the news. The man must sleep on-site because within five minutes he was there in their midst. "How'd you do that?" young James asked, "Spike just hang up…" DI James smiled, and waved a hand.

"What have you found?"

Spike lifted the shredder's lid, DI James being the dinosaur that he was didn't get it, "So, it's a lid."

"Not just any lid," JD excitedly explained how it has a scanner fitted to it that transmitted info as the paper went in to an email address.

The older James looked askance, "Do we know who ordered this?"

Spike sat in front of a computer, logged into the police store and requisition department, well hacked to be precise. "Based on evidence, everything was done properly. You requisitioned for a shredder. A shredder was ordered for $180.00 so obviously it was a low to mid-range model. Nothing fancy but could do the job. It was delivered four months ago. The delivery was accepted by one of the clerks, she's clean. We know that because we've vetted everyone."

"I think there was a switch of product on delivery. We were meant to get this model." Spike googled the model and type that was on the invoice but instead we got this," pointing to the high-end model. "They may have paid the delivery guy so they can swap the product. Everyone checks the box on delivery to make sure it's what was ordered, but no one ever checks what's inside once the box is opened."

The three of them were mightily impressed at the simplicity of the sophistication. Paul Bullard had become more cunning. He employed a high tech spy tool. There was no need to vet its loyalty to him. No grease money or pay-out needed. No cleaning up after.

But the three of them were very clever, too. DI James expressed in words what they were all thinking, "We could use this to our advantage." They looked at the spy tool, and they thought, _you want information, you're gonna have it by the reams._


	18. Feeding Disinformation

_More excitement to follow…._

**Feeding Disinformation**

The discovery of the high-tech spy tool that was the innocent looking paper shredder would turn the tide in favour of the Task Force. They kept it between the three of them, just in case.

Victor Carabella had already been working as a kitchen hand at Paulo's for just under a month, today Les McKay would "join them straight from California". The undercover cop didn't look forward to it, just two weeks ago the last meeting with Leslie at Juliana's ended in tears for him and their last shooting date was spent in awkward silence.

Carabella was in early, part of the opening crew. At 2pm, cross-dressing Les presented himself at Paulo's and was met by Bullard's second-in-charge who had the unfortunate name of Tom Dick, nicknamed Dicky. The 2IC was permanently high, though he appeared mean and tough his innards were probably close to decay as a result of snorting too much cocaine. The face-to-face interview lasted a mere two seconds. A nod, and a handshake, if one could call a limp fish handshake that. That was it, Les was on duty.

Les was careful to do one thing. He assigned the waitresses to attend to the needs of Bullard and his men. He kept to managerial duties, the less he mingled with them, the better it would be. Vic on the other hand kept an eye in and around the kitchen and kept a close watch on Leslie. He hoped to God he doesn't slip and call Les, Leslie. That would be like calling "scorpio" on her.

The Electronic Surveillance Team (EST) kept tabs on activities close by. They monitored the cameras and listening devices and they were now bearing fruit. The inconspicuous truck with the panel painted "Sol's Cleaning Crew" was equipped with a deactivation device; one of Spike's forward thinking suggestions. Thankfully, they listened to him because every morning, Bullard's crew went over the premises with a bug detection sweeper. The EST would remotely deactivate the bugging devices so Bullard's men didn't pick up on their presence. As luck would have it, Bullard and Co. was not smart enough to vary the time of the sweep.

At any rate, Les had successfully inserted himself at Paulo's with as little contact with Vic as possible. But every time they met in the kitchen the tension between them was so pronounced that the cooks picked up on it. So rumour had circulated among the staff that Les and Vic were gay.

"Hey, you two should be a couple," the head cook told Vic one morning. The undercover cop was instantly on guard until he realised the cook meant "gay couple". He toned down his protestation by saying Les wasn't interested in him. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. He looks at you dreamily when you're not looking," the two cooks high-fived each other. Victor shook his head and ignored the jives.

Two weeks onward, DI James made the first move on feeding misinformation which called for the expertise of Wordy, ex SRU, now with Gun and Gangs. The brief was simple, get Tom Dick alone, "I don't care how you do it, just get him alone with you." An undercover cop followed Wordy around his task to take photographs at every opportunity.

Wordy went to work. He "bumped" into Tom Dick at the restaurant. Wordy grabbed Tom's hand in full view of Dicky's bad boy buddies and shook it rather firmly, "Remember me, man. Big Kev." **SNAP!** A photograph was taken of that enthusiastic hand shake.

The next day, the G&G man waited for his quarry at the parking lot, leaning casually on Tom's brand new BMW. **SNAP!** Wordy appeared as if he was waiting for a friend. Dicky was irate to find him leaning on his car; he approached aggressively. **SNAP!** Wordy had his arms wide open as if to give Tom a man-hug. And the other guy was snapped rushing to Wordy. Anyone looking at the photos would assume two "friendly" guys were meeting up at the parking lot.

On the third day, Wordy had another photo op. Dicky left Bullard and Co., walked down an alley to snort cocaine, Paul didn't like his men doing it at the restaurant. **SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!** Now they've got pictures of Tom getting up, walking down the alley and "meeting up" with Wordy.

"Who the fuck are you?" challenged Tom. "Chill man. I've got some of that, too. Wanna try mine? It's pure heaven, man." Wordy gave it to him in an envelope. **SNAP!**

DI James had Spike and JD prepare the disinformation in a memo.

**TOP SECRET**

**CONFIDENTIAL**

**Task Force Eyes Only**

**Operation Snitch: Tom Dick, Bullard's 2IC had agreed to become our eyes and ears in exchange for immunity and undisclosed payment.**

The memo was accompanied by several photographs, every one of them incriminating. There was one of Wordy and Tom shaking hands, meeting up in a car park, Tom leaving Paulo's, walking down the alley, clandestinely meeting up in an alley with Wordy, accepting an envelope from Wordy. All pictures were very damning indeed. They made sure every photo didn't show Wordy's face, only his profile or his backside to protect him.

These were shredded. As expected the memo and the images were received by an anonymous email address. Paul Bullard couldn't believe his eyes, "bastard!" The crime king pin hated snitches above all, he didn't care if it was a long-time friend or a relative. He once ordered the execution of his own flesh and blood, his nephew for turning Crown witness.

DI James made an attempt to save Tom Dick through an intermediary. He warned Dicky his boss suspected him of being a snitch, "He's gonna kill you man. You're better off crossing to the other side. They'll put you on protective custody." Dicky laughed off the intermediary, "Fool, the police can't protect me. He's got men inside. I've been his number two for 10 years, he can't hurt me. He can't wipe his own bottom without me, man."

Well, Dicky should have listened because the next day, he was found floating in Lake Ontario.

Dicky's death disrupted Bullard's drugs operation. He lost a trusted lieutenant who was also in charge of distribution and now he was paranoid of his other crew. If his longest and most trusted crew was turned, who else? Bullard spent days angry as hell. The Task Force watched with amusement as the drug empire begun to slowly implode on itself. Tom Dick was just one tile of domino. They would pull off another misinformation that would cause a few more to come crushing down.

Spike suggested to DI James that they should serve it right back at Paul, "Let's send one of this baby to Paulo's? Get Leslie to thrash the old one, buy a new one, I'll fit it with scanner and transmitter. I can rig one up easy." James okey'd the suggestion, in fact he loved it.

There were documents that needed to be copied, legal or not, he didn't care. He didn't bother consulting with Angelica Delaney, Crown counsel, all she ever said was "No, can't do." She was beginning to annoy the hell out of him. If she hadn't been vetted, he'd have thought she worked for the other side. Although he did know better, sometimes he wondered who the law was protecting.

Nevertheless, if they couldn't be used in the court of law because they were, quote unquote, illegally obtained, who cares? The task force could still use these documents to intimidate, cajole, convince, harass if need be, or just used to connect more dots.

As it turned out, the idea to send a new shredder fitted with a scanner was an inspired because Paulo's Restaurant was the real deal. This was where things really happened, no wonder they couldn't find any evidence of wrong doings at what they thought was Bullard HQ. That was a mere hang out, where they played billiard, drank themselves to death and brought whores over.

Les was in charge of banking. All banking account details were kept secret and separate. It was his job to tally the takings at the end of the day and in charge of the money transfers. He also prepared a written report for Paul. After PB has perused the information, the memo was shredded. Shred away, you beauty!

It took just a week for Paul's Cybercrime Unit to build their first solid lead of where funds were going, and who the recipients were. They were shell corporations of course so it would take months to unearth the parent company through a series of investigative work. Paul's team contacted Interpol, the web had widened and gone international.

Two weeks after Dicky's demise, the Task Force sent out another disinformation. A memo was shredded to say buyers would be picked up from Monday and that it would be a month long operation. PB was beyond infuriated, this meant one thing and one thing only; he couldn't launder money for a "whole fucking month". He had a warehouse full of crap wine and unable to use them to clean his money.

"Bastards!"

He couldn't risk his buyers getting picked up for questioning. At any rate, he decided he had enough money to retire for life so what if he had to wait a month to wash his cash.

Meantime, it's a week to go before Spike and Winnie's overseas holiday. He didn't know why the thought crossed his mind but it got the Italian worried, _what if something happens to Leslie while I'm away? _It couldn't bear thinking, it would disappoint Win but he must cancel the holiday, even if he couldn't get his money back because everything from flights to hotel reservation to tours had been fully paid for.

Spike arrived home and he dreaded telling Win although he was sure she would understand. _I have to do this right_, he thought. His girlfriend was reclined on the three-seater couch watching television, dressed in her favourite white house dress, _she looks divine_. "Hi, Miss Sunshine," he gave her a kiss and lifted her slight frame off the couch. He sat down and placed her on his lap, her feet on the couch, "I've got something to tell you." He paused. She tilted her face at him and smiled, "The holiday is cancelled, right?"

Spike was momentarily taken aback, "How'd you know?" he said slowly.

"I saw it coming when neither you nor Joe could stop her from doing what she's doing. I was going to let you sweat but you look so pathetic," she chuckled at his expense.

"Ok," he said, "So does that mean you didn't pay…" Win shook her head. He couldn't believe it, _oh my God, what a clever girl I've got._ Then he remembered the ring. _Ah, the ring!_

He was sure that if he let Win get away he'd be the most stupid guy ever. _I better get that thing squared away_. He grinned and kissed Win deeply and thought, _how lucky am I?_


	19. Cataclysm

_Swear words alert! Please be advised there's a bit of violence in this chapter. _

**Cataclysm**

Victory was short-lived but it had nothing to do with Bullard's smarts or savvy. It had to do with plain bad luck. Another month and the case would have probably wrapped up with Bullard and his minions jailed for a long, long time; but as bad luck would have it, they didn't have the extra 30 days or so to put in play more disinformation. Now, it was a matter of life and death for Les and Vic; and a matter of supreme self-sacrifice for Spike.

Mr PB, self-proclaimed entrepreneur, didn't care if the restaurant was one waitress short; or if the kitchen was on fire; or if the roof caved in. But he cared for the banking and the account reconciliation to be done every. single. day. So every day Les went. He was out banking when it happened! The young manager left the office door closed but unlocked, PB liked it this way so he could enter when he pleased. Earlier that day Les had been shredding, an activity he did with the mini shredder up on a side table. Unfortunately, he forgot to mind the time and was now running late for banking duties, in his rush he forgot to put the machine back on the floor. The shredder stood on the side table looking innocent. It was a cheap model after all.

Bullard entered the office and sat on the swivel chair, his feet on the table perusing some reports. The king pin appeared to the casual observer as if he knew what he was reading but Les knew better, he had been fudging the reports and Mr PB hadn't clued in_. _Leslie alias Les had been doctoring the reports for two months. His initial subterfuge was a small entry, an account payable for a non-existent delivery of fruit and vegetable, and got away with it. He got braver and more cunning each passing day, in two months, he had been able to siphon close to $100,000 from Bullard's various accounts, and the drug lord was still none the wiser, _Idiot._

Paul's cell phone rang; to get it out of his pocket he had to get his feet off the table which meant moving his chair outward a fraction, the chair bumped into the side table causing the shredder to wobble. He made an attempt to stop it but hit it a little too hard instead. It crashed to the floor, the lid came off, and the game was up. Bullard was nailed to the floor where he stood. His face turned crimson as blood rushed from his heart to his brain. A sudden roar of anger erupted from the office, "Fucking cunt!" Vic was loading the dishwasher and from that distance he heard the outburst. Experience told him that cold-blooded murderers didn't scream bloody murder unless they plan to commit it. He put two and two together, "Leslie." He closed the door of the dishwasher quickly and rushed to the office, hoping against hope that Leslie wasn't there or wasn't due back soon.

Vic appeared at the door, "Boss, what's wrong?" in a voice that he hoped sounded sincere. The minions had already gathered around the king pin. Vic eyes' focused on the item in Bullard's hand, _fuck, fuck, fuck! _His brain couldn't say "fuck" fast enough.

He averted his eyes and looked at the goons, "Ok, I was just checking if the Boss was ok, I'll leave you to it." He left as quickly as his feet could take him out without sprinting. He was already dialling Leslie's phone before he reached the kitchen. It went to voice mail, _Pick it up, come on!_ He felt a rising panic in himself. If he left his kitchen post without a valid reason, he'd uncover himself, too. And what good would he be to Leslie if he was exposed.

_I need a cigarette break_. He looked at the time, _it'll do_. "Chef, it's my 15 minute break, gonna be outside for a smoke. The dishwasher's loaded." The chef nodded his permission and away he went. Vic waited outside the backdoor knowing this was where Les always came in and out. "Habit," she said. "Going out the front is not my style," she told him once, "Every one's eyes follow you."

As bad luck would have it, that day Les came in via the front door. The next thing Vic heard was a loud disturbing commotion, of things breaking, voices one on top of each other followed by a moan of agony. Vic rushed back in. The chef stopped him leaving the kitchen area. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you," said the frightened chef, looking white as a ghost. Then he heard a blood curling sound of pain, male_, thank God_ he thought. He didn't have time to waste; he pressed the panic button under the kitchen bench. He and Les alone knew where and what it was for.

The siren at SRU HQ blared and the red light spun like crazy. "Where's that?" Ed, Fearless Team Leader of Team One was quick to the despacther's desk. Winnie was on duty, she looked at the source of the distress signal, "Paulo's Restaurant". Her blood froze. _Spike,_ she thought_. Oh my God._ The event she dreaded had just unfolded, and she had to be on duty of all days. She momentarily forgot to breath. Spike was rushing out of the locker room, all geared up and ready to go, he locked on her gaze and he understood without knowing. _Bloody hell._

She knew it was against protocol but she didn't care. She came around out of the despatcher desk and hugged him, "Don't do anything stupid." When she loosened her arms around his waist, she looked at him and saw unblinking eyes. His mind seemingly disconnected from him, a coping mechanism to detach himself from the looming disaster about to happen. Win shook him, "Promise me." He nodded, "I've got to go. I love you." She gripped his hands, "I love you, too. Please be careful."

Spike sent a group message to the Task Force, the distress word "Frosty" appeared on their cell phone screen but even as they received the message, the EST had already reported hearing commotion inside the restaurant to DI James. The Task Force Head didn't waste time alerting the SRU, he knew by following the rules of engagement that the elite police unit was already on their way. He drove to Paulo's alone in his Harley. The last thing he wanted was to lose an officer and a CI, that wasn't going to happen on his watch. He arrived at the scene before SRU, its gigantic vans stuck in traffic for a little bit while he weaved in-between cars on his motorcycle.

Leslie managed to kick one goon in the crotch causing him to emit blood curling streams of profanity. And now, she had a pair of scissored legs around the neck of another, who was squirming in agony as she increased the pressure on his Adam's apple. But she was in a head lock herself. _Forget Vic_, Joe elbowed the nape of the man holding Leslie, using Cambodian Bukator fighting style. He released Leslie the instant he felt a flare of pain, Joe followed this with a kick to the gut. He grabbed Leslie's hand, "Now."

As they turned to run out of the confined space, someone fired hitting Joe on the back as he shielded Leslie with his body. "Arrgh," she heard as blood poured out of him. "Go," he pushed her, "Run." She wasn't counting on this. She wasn't counting on getting Joe killed. She was sick to death of loved ones dying on her or dying on her account.

The chef heard the echoing shot, he didn't wait around find out who shot who, it was now or never, he quickly escaped out the back door only to be snatched by the cuff of his chef's uniform. DI James was just outside the back door and heard the gun fire. "Who was shot?" The chef looked at him numbly as the Inspector dragged him away.

SRU arrived, "Shot fired! Shot fired," bellowed First Officer Sam Braddock who was the first out of the black van. He heard the unmistaken sound of gun fire that took Joe down.

"Who?" James hollered at the chef as he dragged him by the cuff of his uniform, once safely away, the chef said he didn't know who got shot. "I didn't hang around to find out, sorry." But confirmed Vic, the kitchen hand went to the aid of Les.

"Fuck," DI James shook his fist and stomped his foot. He was frustrated beyond measure. He maybe an ugly scarred bastard of a chief, but he loved Joe like a son. Joe was the son he never had. "Fuck," he said again. He manhandled the chef and handed him to a Uniform. "Take him to the station, 24 hour police guard. He's a witness. If something happens to him, I'll have your head." Somehow it didn't comfort the chef.

She had no choice but to leave Joe as he fell heavily to the ground, blood spurting out of him. She remembered the small fire arm tucked in the small of her back, a Springfield XD Subcompact 9mm handgun. Her hand reached for it as she ran in the direction of the storeroom, locked the door, toppled the shelf to block it and crouched down behind a cupboard to give herself a fighting chance. She wondered if Joe was still alive, and if he was, _would rescue come before he dies of exsanguination_? The not-knowing was killing her. _Perhaps I should give myself up in exchange for his life._

DI James presented himself to Sgt Parker, "I have an officer inside and a CI." Parker understood, he was in the loop somewhat, "Greg, the CI… it's Leslie McCoy."

"Shit," the SRU Sargent who was normally cool as a cucumber exclaimed, "that's a game changer. She's got history with Bullard." They exchanged information, Greg needed to know as much as possible if he was to successfully negotiate Leslie and Joe's release.

Twenty minutes elapsed since SRU arrived on the scene, they had instructed the uniforms to secure the perimeter, unloaded their gears and discussed their tactics. Greg turned around to find Spike standing behind him. "Boss, I'm not staying in the truck, Raf can do it," he said with uncharacteristic determination. "Negative," was the swift reply. "If someone gets shot from your weapon, it would be hard to explain to SIU that it wasn't vindictive or influenced by your history with Bullard."

Spike didn't move a muscle, he wasn't going to be told to stay put, Greg sensed it. He knew his Techie well enough to know when Spike was being belligerent. "It's an order." The Techie turned around and went back to the direction of the Command Truck, "Do you trust him to… obey?' asked DI James. "If he disobeys order, it would be a first," said Greg, he had a feeling.

Spike walked over to Raf, "Boss said, you're in charge of the Command Truck." The most recent addition to T1 complied, "Ok, if you say so but I don't know why he'd put there on a high profile case like this. I don't know my uniform buttons from the ones on the console," he said self-deprecatingly. Spike, normally quick for a repartee didn't reply, the Techie partnered himself with Sam, the man.

Then there was an almighty explosion! A section of the restaurant was on fire. _What the hell happened?_

_If you don't read the next one, you'll be in agony… remember… it's the not-knowing that's really bad for you._


	20. Walking in the Valley of Death

**Walking in the Valley of Death**

The ground shook. The explosion shattered the windows of the restaurant and other establishments nearby. Panicked people poured out of buildings into the streets, uniforms barely able to contain the hysterical masses. It appeared from the bellowing flames that Bullard and his men caused a gas leak in the kitchen and ignited it.

"Winnie, call the Fire Department," Parker barked on his comm link though he didn't need to, it was so loud Win heard it on her headset. When she called the closest fire station, she was told the first responders had already left. They heard the blast and didn't wait for a call. Next, Win called the paramedics and directed it to Paulo's Restaurant. Within minutes fire trucks and ambulances had converged on the scene.

Spike turned on the tracking device to pick up the signal from Leslie's bracelet, the beeping showed her to be inside the burning structure. "She's inside," he whispered to no one in particular. Sam who was standing next to him heard and was perplexed, "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Truck?" No response. Spike was so focused on the tracker to the exclusion of everything else. His brain didn't register the other emergencies that were happening all around him.

Greg Parker, still unaware Spike wasn't in the Command Truck where he expected him to be, called out an order, "Spike, upload the layout of the restaurant will ya…. so fire fighters… ." Raf heard the instruction on his comm and begun to wonder why the Boss was asking Spike, he answered, "Boss, you mean me? Raf."

The instant Parker asked what he was doing in the Truck Raf realised he'd been tricked, "Boss, Spike said you asked me to man the Command Truck…. I'm so sorry." Parker's stilted voice betrayed his emotion, he was frustrated, irate. He managed to control his temper through gritted teeth, "Do you know how to upload the info?" He tried not to take out his frustration on Raf. Spike knew better! He knew he'd compromise the operation by going AWOL, and doing what he ought not to be doing!

Ed heard it all, as the Team Leader and the one in charge of tactics, he made a direct order, "Spike! Get back in the Truck now. Right Now!"

Someone else's voice came on, "Ed, Ed! Spike's run into the burning restaurant." Sam was frantic for his friend who unthinkingly disobeyed order and disregarded emergency protocol. Without gas mask, without fire retardant protective clothing, he dashed inside a burning edifice motivated by fulfilling a promise to look after a young girl, a girl he regarded as flesh and blood sister.

Then they heard Raf's voice came over their head sets, "Boss, I know how to use the computer but Boss…. I wouldn't know where to find the information." _You nincompoop_, _I should kick your back side_. He was angry at Spike, as a matter of fact, angry wasn't a strong enough word to describe what he was feeling. This wasn't supposed to happen. Scarlatti had compromised the rescue operation. But on the other hand, he also had himself to blame for taking Spike's word as gospel when he knew of his and Leslie's history with Bullard. _And now, he's inside a flaming building._

During the confusion, Paul Bullard and his men escaped via a hidden passage from the kitchen into the back alley, they were spotted by the keen-eyed lone female member of T1. Jules Callaghan was already perched on the roof for a sniper shot having earlier been designated Sierra 1. "Guys, Bullard and his men are escaping, back alley, south side of the building. I counted five men, I don't see any hostages." The voice was firm, solid and assured, "Boss, I have eyes on the vehicle, I can hit the tire from this distance, permission to fire."

Greg gave the go-ahead, "Copy that!" Jules focused on the crosshairs of her rifle, a Remington 700PSS .308. The shot was spot on. One of the tires exploded on impact and was torn to shreds. The SUV wobbled and nearly turned turtle.

Six men were seen getting off the vehicle, and carried on on foot. Jules couldn't fire on unarmed fleeing suspects, so she did the next best thing by following them with her scope. She consulted the GPS map of her PDA for street names, "They're heading west on Palmer St.," A team of undercover cops had arrived, led by DI James pursued the suspects all the way down to a busy city street. At this point the situation was no longer 'contained', James called off the chase in order not to endanger the public.

Then they heard Spike's agitated shouting, "He's here, he's alive. He's alive." Spike had stumbled upon Joe who was barely alive, having lost a lot of blood. He pressed down on his bullet wound with his palm, prayed that the paramedics would get there before Leslie choked to death in the acrid smoke. The fire had started in the kitchen area, in close proximity to the storeroom where Leslie remained hidden.

The fire fighters concentrated their water cannon in that general area but it was the smoke and toxic fumes that could eventually kill them. When the paramedics arrived, their faces covered in gas masks, Spike left Joe in their expert hands.

He braved the kitchen, the tracker's beeping got louder. He couldn't see the storeroom door due to thick smoke blanketing the place. He knew from memory it was just off the narrow corridor between the kitchen and the office. He crawled and felt the wall with one hand; the other he used to cover his face with a towel. He stood up when he felt the door jamb, then burned his palm when he touched the door knob. He kicked the door down, called out, "Les. It's Spike." He heard a loud cough from the far corner of the room, "It's Spike, follow my voice."

Leslie tried to get up from where she was crouched low, followed the sound of his voice but both of them had weakened considerably, their lungs filling with dangerous substances. Spike felt his throat throbbed, the pain was excruciating. The burning sensation was too much. He was about to faint when he felt arms around his armpit, dragging him out. He resisted, "Leslie's in there. Les…" He lost consciousness suffering from pulmonary insufficiency.

A second fire fighter went in search of Leslie who was collapsed in a heap just outside the storeroom door, he carried him over his shoulders and quickly retreated, time was of the essence. Her lungs were struggling to take in oxygen. Closed space fire often resulted in severe hypoxia as well as lung damage from inhalation of toxic fumes.

An ambulance rushed Joe to the hospital where DI James was already waiting in the lobby. He rang Joe's parents and siblings to tell them of the "accident" and hoping they hadn't been listening to the news. He had lost men and women under his Command both in the Military and in the Force but this was the first time he felt emotionally torn. It felt like his gut was fed through a ground meat machine and was now minced.

He didn't think he could function again if Joe died. He had always been careful not to become emotionally involved or even engaged to his peers and officers under his command, precisely because of the toll it wrought on him. _When this operation wraps up, I'm done._

Leslie and Spike were pulled out of the burning building unconscious. The Team as a Unit oscillated between being angry at Spike and being proud for what he did. The operation was now in tatters and the suspects had fled. But on the other hand, they couldn't fault him for what he did; any one of them could have done the same for someone special, given half the chance.

They were taken separately in two ambulances to St Luke's Burns Unit where expert care would be provided. Adrenaline had prevented Spike from noticing how badly burnt his right hand was. Their skin suffered first, second and third degree burns in places, being cooked alive in extreme heat could do that to a person.

Meanwhile, with three members of the Task Force critical in hospital, Bullard and his minions would have the chance to regroup, this DI James would not allow. He called for an emergency meeting, every one attended. Crown Counsel Angelica Delaney was first to arrive, "I'm so sorry about Joe." James' face remained stoic but he acknowledged the expression of sympathy with a nod. "It's time to stop feeling sorry, time to throw the books at them." The lawyer agreed wholeheartedly, if only she could change the law of the land by her lonesome. Even with an attempted murder charge of a police officer, these low lives would be jailed for no more than three years.

But there was one good outcome, the Prosecutor's Office was willing and able to issue search and arrest warrants against Bullard and his crew; subpoena bank records; order asset forfeiture and throw anything and everything at them. Miss Delaney was heard telling her assistant Lincoln Folkes "Add to that attempted murder of a police officer and a civilian, disorderly conduct, public disturbance, malicious damage to property."

Paul's Cybercrime unit had made significant headway establishing local and international connections between different shell companies, but they still had a lot of groundwork to cover to establish the identity of the parent company. But it's only a matter of time.

Gun and Gangs struck while the iron was hot, with Bullard and his crew in hiding and the pursuit being passable as probable cause, they raided all known Bullard hide outs and warehouses and scored big time. One raiding party was led by Wordy, "This is for my buddy." He thought of Spike who was still critically injured in the burns unit.

Back at the hospital, Win stopped to see Spike and Leslie. She wasn't prepared for the horror of seeing both looking like mummies, wrapped from head to toe almost, in bandage. Burn treatment was one of the most painful medical procedure any one would possibly undergo. She felt her body go into shock, she stared at their rigid forms and despaired of the situation, it was just too much for anyone to handle. Greg came over to drape an arm around her, "He's gonna be ok, they're both gonna be ok. It's not as bad as it looks." The problem was he had difficulty believing it himself.

The Team headed back for debrief, it was obvious that no matter how they played it, Michaelangelo Scarlatti was in trouble. He went against a whole rule book, did his own thing, could have gotten himself killed, but if it was up to them, no one was going to hear about this. But a third party report went up the chain of command. A week later they heard a disciplinary committee was being formed to determine if Scarlatti was still fit to serve in the elite team of the SRU.

His career was on the line and the job he loved may no longer be his when he walked out of the hospital. Sooner or later, he may have to hang his hat. Winnie wept when she heard the news, there was nothing, nothing Spike loved doing best than be with SRU. She feared what it would do to him. The price of love was too heavy even for his broad shoulders.

SRU T1 would never be the same again if Scarlatti was given his marching orders. When the news came to Sgt Greg Parker that the head of the disciplinary committee was none other than Dr Toth, he almost choked. _Can it go any more wrong?_


	21. Then there was Darkness

_Robert first appeared in chapter five of the story "A Pleasant Surprise". The chapter was entitled "Waiting, But Not Waiting." If you haven't read it yet, please do so, it will only take five minutes of your time._

**Then there was Darkness**

His right hand was the most severely injured. The leather glove he was wearing melted and fused onto his palm when he touched the door knob. Leslie, he would later learn had hand and shoulder injuries when she shifted the shelf off the door, the same shelf she used to block it to bar Bullard and his minions from entering the storeroom.

Their faces and bodies, although not burnt were severely blistered so they had to be bandaged like mummies to avoid infection. Both sustained serious respiratory injuries from inhaling toxic fume and intubated to aid their breathing. They spent the first two days in the burns victim unit under sedation so for them it went by like a blur; not so for those who loved them and who were forced to watch from afar, it was two agonisingly long days. Thankfully, both were in top physical condition so were healing quicker than expected.

On the third day, Spike opened his eyes, drowsily at the start, when he became more conscious of his situation, the attending male nurse noticed he wanted to say something with some urgency but with his face bandaged and a tube attached to his nasal passages, he was unable to communicate. The male nurse introduced himself, "I'm George," pointing to his name tag, "I'm the nurse in charge. You want to say something?" Spike blinked. George smiled with understanding, "Wait here, I'll get something for you."

George came back with a laptop, "It's mine. You can borrow it while I organised one for you." As soon as the laptop powered up, Spike typed with a finger of his left hand, "les?" The nurse looked at the screen with interest, "She's well, recuperating in the other room." That lifted a huge worry, his countenance lightened. Next he typed "joe?"

"The police officer?" Spike blinked, "Doing very well. He's two floors down, he'll probably leave before you." That made the patient look even better. He typed again, "win?"

"Ah, she's here every day, I think she's gone home … she'll be back soon." George turned as he heard a familiar voice, "How's our patient doing?"

"Hey Doc, he's awake," the nurse turned back to Spike, "Officer Scarlatti, this is your attending specialist, Dr Rob Reeves." _He looks familiar. _The handsome young doctor came over to look at the patient's daily chart, George quickly added, "Doc, I haven't taken his vitals. Haven't had the chance, he had a lot of questions."

Dr Reeves replaced it, "I'll go finish my round then, and to Spike he said, "See you later Officer Scarlatti." He was sure he's met the burns specialist before, but where he couldn't recall_. _George had just finished taking his vitals when Winnie arrived with a bag of clothes and his laptop. "Hi," She saw the laptop on the bedside table, "I see you beat me to it." Seeing Spike awake gave her a tremendous boost. She wanted to hug him but the most she could do was touch the fingers of his left hand. "I love you," she said. He blinked. It was enough, her eyes twinkled. She turned on his laptop and asked if he wanted music, he shook his head and motioned with his hand. "You want the laptop?" She put it in front of him, "te amo" he typed, she smiled broadly.

Then Spike wanted to know, "wats 2day".

"It's Friday," she said. It dawned on him that this was the day he planned to propose. He would have gotten down on one knee at sundown today, wherever in the world they may have been, it didn't matter if they were by the sea, or the mountain top, or by the wayside, he would have proposed. Then he realised he had not collected the ring, he was going to on Wednesday after work, but Wednesday was when it all came to shits. He felt an overwhelming spirit-crushing despondency. His girlfriend saw tears well in his eyes, "What's wrong?" she asked concerned.

It was at the point when she was getting him to say what the trouble was that Dr Reeves returned. Win straightened up, she was friendly and on a first name basis with him "Hey Rob," she said. The doctor gave her a peck on the cheek then it dawned on him, _that Robert_. Whatever possessed him at that moment, Spike felt jealous as hell. He couldn't help the sense of unease and self-pity that bubbled up to the surface. It was followed by a very dark thought, _Here I am, my face all bandaged up, when it comes off, I'd probably look like a walking map of the world_.

He could see, as clear as day, that the doctor was enamored with his girlfriend. They chatted comfortably, Spike watched them, _they look good together._ She talked with him easily, Win saw him looking and came over, "Spike, this is Rob, I'm not sure if you remember, you met once… at SRU HQ." His eyes did the talking, _yes, I recognise him. _

The doctor, he thought, had a striking resemblance to the guy who played Nero in the movie trilogy, "The Matrix." Spike enjoyed watching sci-fi movies. He struggled to recall the actor's name, not that it mattered anyway. It didn't help his mood when the good doctor jokingly said, "So, you're the one she didn't want me for." Win playfully swatted his attending physician's arm and he, Michaelangelo Scarlatti, felt stupidly, pityingly unhinged.

When finally Dr Reeves left, Win kept him abreast of news on Leslie and Joe. "Les' injuries aren't as bad as yours. Apparently the storeroom door was a fire-rated door, so she had some protection. And Joe's bullet wound was a through and through. It seems he's getting stronger by the day." Spike heard but he wasn't listening for much of it. Win wondered why Spike was suddenly unresponsive. She put it down to tiredness. "Would you like to go back to sleep?" she asked. He nodded. _She's better off with him anyway. She deserves someone better. _He turned away; and, tried as he might he couldn't stop the self-pity that assaulted his normally tenacious being.

Greg was the second person he saw on his bedside when he was deemed strong enough to receive more visitors, in his case the fourth day. The risk of infection was just too great for burns victims that visitors were mostly permitted to say "Hi" through a glass window until such time when their numerous open sores and wounds were covered with scab.

"We're all here but they're not allowed to come in yet. Risk of potential infection, ya know?" Spike registered the anxiety on Sgt Parker's eyes, he felt a need to apologise, he typed, "Sorry, Boss." The cherubic face broke into a sad smile, "Don't worry about it. Just get better." He didn't have the heart to tell Spike of the impending disciplinary hearing. _That will just have to wait. _The visit lasted a mere 15 minutes, the more he talked, the more he feared he'd slipped and say what he didn't plan to say so Sgt Parker decided to terminate the visit with a lame, "I've got to go, Dean is waiting at the reception." He felt bad and Spike felt it, too. _There's something he's not telling me,_ and he thought the worse of all possible scenario. _I'm fired._

Commander Holleran got copies of the summons from the disciplinary committee. He really couldn't recall a time when he agonised over the fate of one SRU member. _Five years of outstanding service. Five years and now it all hangs in the balance. _He had no influence over the committee and even if he had it would be unwise to exercise it. He called Team One for a closed door meeting.

"You're all being summoned to face the committee in two weeks, mark your calendar. If you don't front up at the hearing, you'd get automatic suspension. Since Spike is still in the hospital, his testimony will be heard last. Just tell the truth, even if you think the truth could hurt him. The last thing I want to happen is for any of you to be cited for contempt or perjure yourself. Clear?" They nodded in unison. "Questions?"

Of all of them, Raf felt the heaviest weight, he knew his testimony was critical, it was he Spike asked to man the Command Truck in defiance of the Sgt Parker's instruction. "What's the worst case scenario if they rule him insubordinate?" Commander Holleran answered truthfully; he wasn't here to cuddle them, but to guide them through the process. "Termination," this was followed by an audible groan.

The Commander continued, "But at the hearing, you'll get a chance to say something on his behalf. The Committee is not after Spike per se, it's not personal. I'm confident they'll take what you say in his defence into consideration." None of that made Raf feel better. He wished the incident never happened and he wished word never got around. But all the wishing in the world could not reverse it now; he could only hope that common sense would prevail. Where does this leave Spike? Scarlatti had many instances in the past when he went his own way and didn't listen. This was one more for the book!

They had two weeks to prepare their testimony, but what was there to prepare? They either say what was true or they don't. There wasn't much to do but wait for the inevitable. In the meantime both Win and Spike need their support, not to mention Leslie; so in between work and family duties, they were at the hospital visiting with Spike.

During one of those visits, they couldn't help but observed how Spike was short or rude with Win, at one point, Ed came within a skerrick of knocking his head for being insensitive, "He's behaving like an ass," he told Greg. "Yeah, he's in a bad way but that's no excuse to be mean to Winnie." They didn't know what got into Spike but Billy, Raf's girlfriend, wasn't one to hold back, "Hey asshole," she said to him when they were alone, "I don't know what your problem is but Win sure doesn't deserve your treatment of her."

Win didn't know what to make of it or what she did wrong, and the only person she really knew at the hospital was Dr Reeves who unfortunately had a vested interest in listening to her sorrows. While Spike despaired of losing Win to the good doctor, he was also pushing her towards him.

"Well, if you're asking for my medical assessment, I'd say he may be suffering from PTSD but I'm not a psychologist or a therapist, so don't take my word for it. But for you, I'll arrange for a referral, ok?" Win was grateful but also fearful of what might happen next. They've been through a lot of drama but this one really took the cake. "Thanks," she said not sounding hopeful. She bit her lower lip and the good doctor thought how vulnerable she looked.

A week later, Spike learned of the disciplinary hearing from the most unlikely source, DI James. "What'd you mean," he asked the inspector. James realised that Spike hadn't been told, but it was too late to backtrack now. The only decent thing to do was to come clean and then tell Sgt Parker what took place. So on top of feeling sore and sorry about Win, he felt betrayed by his Team for not telling him. Deep down, he knew his team wasn't being deceitful, but logic wasn't playing a part in it, only fear and loathing.

After DI James' visit, Win got the brunt of his passive aggressive disposition. He did feel awfully bad when, with tears in her eyes, she turned to leave. "I've got to go, Liley and Moppet are waiting. Can I bring you anything from home?" His facial bandage had been removed, and the tube as well so he could talk if he wanted to but he didn't. He stared at the ceiling stubbornly refusing to look at her. "Fine," she said. She paused at the door, "I love you," then she was gone. He mentally kicked himself for being an ass.


	22. Unbreakable Bond

**Unbreakable Bond**

Joe was discharge ahead of Spike and Leslie. The bullet went through and through and missed vital organs. But it shattered part of his shoulder bone so he would be on medical leave until he could move his shooting arm without impediment. He'd have to see a physiotherapist to help him regain strength and function.

On the day of his discharge, he visited Leslie for the first time since the incident. "Hey, you…" he said as he pulled a chair closer to her. She averted her eyes, self-conscious of the discolouration on her skin. Her hands, arms, shoulders were scarred and in some places were large blotches as old skin peeled off and new skin came to the fore. Joe reassured her, "Don't worry, it doesn't change the way I feel for you. The scars will fade," he said. "We just have to make sure that the scar here," he pointed to his chest, "fades as well."

Tears pooled in her eyes, "I'm so glad you're alive… you and Spike. I don't think I can face living if either one of you perished in there. I couldn't keep going." Joe dubbed her tears, afraid that to wipe them would be to scratch the scabs protecting her wounds from infection. "Hey, we're all here. It's ok."

"I'm so sorry," she heard herself say. "Not your fault," he said. "It wasn't you who set that place on fire and you didn't shoot me." They stayed quiet until it was time for Joe to go. His mother popped her head in, "Momma, come. Meet Leslie." So it was at the hospital that the two women he loved met, "You're such a courageous girl," she said.

The young woman said shyly, "No, I'm not but your son was. He saved my life."

"Come to our house for dinner when you're feeling better," she said. Leslie felt her heart skipped a bit, she smiled to show her appreciation, "Thanks. I will." His mother invited Leslie to their home for dinner he took this as a good sign. Before they left, Joe kissed her finger tips, "Bye, see you soon."

He held his mother's elbow, "There's someone else I want to see," and they went to the next room, Spike wasn't there, George was. "Where's?..." Joe asked pointing at the empty bed. The male nurse recognised him and motioned 'gone walking' with two fingers, "If you bump into him along the corridor, could you tell him it's time to change his dressing." Joe nodded. They walked in the direction of the nearest exit; and there he bumped into Spike near the Nurses' station. He introduced Spike to his mother and they spoke warm greetings in Italian.

The guys discussed their medical procedures and prognosis as they walked along, Mrs Di Nozzi trailed behind listening. They jokingly compared battle scars much to the old woman's chagrin. An unbreakable bond had formed between them, all three of them, borne out of a common life changing experience.

The conversation turned serious when Joe asked about his forthcoming disciplinary hearing, Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Que sera, sera," he said philosophically, "Whatever will be, will be. It's too late for regrets anyhow. We're all alive, the three of us. And though Bullard and his gang escaped, I heard they're now all in custody. What else can I hope for?"

"Well, we've got to go. I just want to say I'd be there for you. Leslie will be, too. Oh… by the way, George said it's time to change your dressing."

DI James and the Task Force had been very busy indeed. Five people were charged of attempted murder of a police officer and a CI; a sixth man, the driver of the getaway vehicle was charged with aiding and abetting. The bold and beautiful Crown Counsel, Angelica Delaney said, "If it fits, throw it at them." So the clerks of law got busy with the law book, and piled anything can that be substantiated on their rap sheet.

Paul Bullard and company escaped custody but surrendered to authorities after two weeks of sustained and relentless coordinated manhunt. At a press conference, DI James' announced that in the end the crime lord had nowhere to go and nowhere to turn. Bullard on the other hand thought rightly that if it was a choice between jail and the casket, he's picked jail anytime. But he underestimated his opponent. He only realised this when his lawyers' application for bail was rejected. Now, he'd have to languish in jail while the Prosecutor's Office built their case and tightened the screw.

Not long after the ruling to decline his bail, a certain 'go-between' made an approached to Miss Delaney from Bullard's quarter, the long and short of it was "How much?" Miss Delaney's laconic reply was "five years." The 'go-between' was dumb-founded so the Crown Counsel spelt it out, "The jail term for attempting to bribe an officer of the Court." It was the first and last approach.

Two more days to go, Spike and Leslie would be out of hospital. Leslie counted the hours. Spike dreaded it. Winnie had only been to visit him once since that day when he was a total jackass, it was strained but more because he wanted it that way. He knew he should apologise for his behaviour, but he couldn't. What was he so jealous about anyway? It didn't matter, he thought, perhaps they weren't meant to be.

But who was to come to visit him that day but Stephanie, Win's BFF. "Hey, Spike… how are you?" she asked batting her eyelashes. Spike laughed. Steph had her own funny way of making light of tough situations. "I'm good. What brought you here?"

"Hey, easy. That hurts." She said, "You make it sound like I don't care whether you live or die. I care if only for my friend." Then she was quiet, and he suddenly felt cold. _Something's coming_. She eyed him closely, "What's this I've been hearing that you're being mean to my girlfriend?" He didn't answer.

"Hello," she persisted.

"Guilty as charged", he said.

"Why?" she asked candidly.

Spike looked at the ceiling, and stayed very still. Steph opened her shoulder bag, took out her iphone, "It's ok, I've got things to do. Let me know when you're ready to talk." Half an hour later, Spike and Steph were still at an impasse. Finally, she heard him say, "She's better off with him, you know."

Steph's eyebrow went up, "With who?"

Spike exhaled, "Reeves."

"You mean, Robert?" Steph had a sudden understanding. "I get it, you're jealous. Why on earth are you jealous of Robert? She chose you over him. He pursued her but she chose you."

Then the pity party began, "That was before... Steph, look at me. I look like a walking map of the world. And besides, he's young, good looking, and a doctor. What more could a girl want?"

Steph ahh'd, "Okeeyyyy," she said with exaggeration. "Let's see if I understand this correctly. Dr Reeves is young, good looking, and a doctor. Oh, you have to add rich. He drives a Porsche, you know?" There, she stuck the knife in and twisted it. Steph watched Spike exhale and press his head a little deeper on the pillow, she wasn't finished, "Yeah, and he's a Memsa member… absolutely, beauty and brains combination."

She looked intently at Spike as his eyes glazed over, "Spike, look at me." When he didn't make a move to do so she tagged at his arm, "Look at me," he turned. "Spike, Rob's young, good looking, intelligent, rich and a doctor. But she's with you. Not with him. Do you get me?"

"I think she just feels sorry for me," he said almost in a whisper.

Steph sighed, "Let me tell you something about women. A woman who pities you will come to visit but she won't change your bed pan. Get me? Do I have to spell it out to you?" She waited patiently, "I think you're feeling sorry for yourself and you're projecting it on her."

George peeped in, "Visiting time's over." She acknowledged the nurse, "This won't be long." She reached over, "I like you but you're hurting my friend. Spike, listen, love isn't deserved. It's given. Accept it." He heard, "accept it," his brain repeated.

The day to leave the hospital came. Joe came to pick up Leslie to take her home. Raf and Billy came to take Spike home. "Ready?" Billy asked. "As ready as I could ever be."

It was deathly quiet on the ride home, suffocatingly quiet.

When they arrived at the apartment building, Billy stayed behind in the car, Raf carried Spike's sports bag up to Apartment 8. At the door, Raf looked at him and said, "Don't let her go." It felt as if a hammer dropped on his chest, "I won't," he said, almost half-heartedly.

They let themselves in, Winnie was waiting, a packed suitcase by the door. She said "Hey," softly. He said, "Hey" back. Raf nodded at her and quickly retreated. _He better not botch this,_ he thought of his friend's penchant to shoot himself in the foot.

Winnie waited for him to say something, anything; to have a sense of whether there was still an "us," a minute passed, and nothing. She finally made a move, "Well, ah, Liley and Moppet are with mom and dad, when you're fit and ready, you can get them back." She hoped he'd stop her, but he made no such move, so she picked up her suitcase and said "goodbye."

Raf and Billy waited at the carpark just to be sure it would be alright, and couldn't quite believe their eyes when they saw Winnie with a suitcase in tears_. Idiot, what have you done?_

_What, indeed?_


	23. Day of Reckoning

**Day of Reckoning**

The night before the hearing Raf was stressed out, he thought perhaps he should make himself ill. _Food poisoning_ _should do it_. _Buy some sushi, leave it out in the sun for bit, then eat it. _He'd risked salmonella to avoid facing the disciplinary committee. Billy chastised him, "Don't be a wuss. Get on with it."

"What the hell is a wuss?" he said with a smirked. She said, "You. You're a wuss."

He wasn't alone in his misery. He soon received a text message from Sam Braddock, "Meet at the Goose." They gathered to enjoy a few drinks, enough to relax and loosen up but not enough to get smashed, it would be bad form to front up at the hearing tomorrow looking like they could use a sobering up.

Billy stayed home and mulled whether it would be a good idea to catch up with Spike. She, at least, didn't tip toe around him. _What the hell?_ She called, he answered after five rings, when he picked up she said impatiently, "Lucky you answered, I was about to call the Marines." Spike grunted. "Don't grunt," she said. "And don't leave, I'm coming." Spike was about to object when she hanged up. He knew better than to disappear, not if he knew what was good for him.

The Tiny Aussie knocked on Apartment 8, but the door on 7 opened instead. "I see you moved back," she said. She had one long look at Spike, and blurted out the bleeding obvious, "You look like shit. Have you eaten anything since we brought you home?"

Spike pointed at the kitchen bench. She saw an empty pizza box, an empty bottle of red and another empty pizza box in the recycle bin. "So you decided to die by calories, maybe I should do you a favour and just shoot you." He gave her a sad smile, "Good idea, been waiting for someone to make the offer."

He sported eye bags the size of marbles, "Have you slept yet?" He shook his head, "Can't sleep." Right, Billy made him sit on the stool while she made coffee for them. "Ok, tell."

"I'm sad," he said, "I miss Win."

The little firebrand's mouth opened and closed. Then she thumped her forehead with her palm, "Hello? Who sent her packing?" she queried. Billy was tempted to club him on the head but he looked so pathetic she decided to not do it just yet.

"She's better off without me." He said sincerely. "By Monday next week, I'd be unemployed and will be for the foreseeable future. I can't see any other outcome. I did what I felt I had to do, I only have myself to blame."

"You know what Spike? In this instance, you're wrong. You should've left the decision to her whether she wants to stay or go. It's her life, too. You've been REALLY unfair to her. And besides how'd you know what the outcome would be? You've pre-empted the Committee. Maybe they'll just suspend you or something. I don't think termination is a possibility. And, what's this hogwash about being unemployable… where did that come from?"

Spike rubbed his face, stopped when he felt tinging pain, his skin were still raw, "Billy, that's what happens when you lose your job for disciplinary reason. No one wants a problem employee."

_Wow, this is worse than I thought, _her brain whirred, "You know what mate, I think you've got some deep-seated issues. You need intervention, mate. You're losing it. Where is this morose, pity me, I'm defeated mentality coming from? It's not you, Spike. You've always been able to overcome your issues."

He changed the topic, "Have you seen her? Since?" he asked softly as he inspected the bandage on his right hand.

"Yeah," Billy didn't elaborate. Spike sensed there was more to be said but… she wasn't going to tell and he wasn't going to ask.

"Is she alright?"

"If you're asking me if she's coping, the answer is yes. But is she happy? No. Believe me she'd be happier miserable with you than happy alone. If you get my drift." Billy jumped up to sit on the kitchen bench to be eye level with Spike, she scooted over closer to him, "You'll probably find out on Monday anyway so I'll tell you now. She resigned." The news was so unexpected. Spike looked at her bluey-green eyes, trying to see if she was telling the truth. She was. He felt the weight of sadness.

"How ironic that you think you're losing your job and she thinks you'd be back at work from Monday. She said she couldn't work in the same place as you." She paused, "Mate, don't do this to yourself. You're punishing yourself, and her, for no valid reason."

He didn't know what got into him, he just started bawling. Billy hugged him, "I love you, mate."

**The day of reckoning came. **In as much as Spike was out of hospital, the Committee decided to hear everybody in one day. It was a closed door hearing, the proceedings kept away from the prying eyes of the public and the media. But somehow news must have got out because there were at least six well-dressed men and women waiting in the lobby. No one knew what to make of them, none looked like starving journalists.

Leslie, Joe, and Billy came to offer support. DI James also dropped by to offer his morale support. And to apprised them of the Task Force's progress.

Team One walked- in in a single file. They sat down in a row facing a Committee of seven: Dr Toth, three serving officers and three retired officers. After introductions were made, the infamous psychologist explained the purpose of the hearing. "This is not a witch hunt," he said emphatically. "Think of this as a fact-finding panel. Part of the verbal exchanges on the day in question was not recorded so we need, firstly, to establish what was said, by whom and to whom." Dr Toth looked at the members of the Panel, who all showed agreement.

The psychologist continued, "We then have to establish whether or not Officer Scarlatti disobeyed a direct order. If he did, we have to make a recommendation of the appropriate disciplinary action based on evidence and your testimony." Spike's heart stopped. He knew he disobeyed an order. He knew he was insubordinate; he didn't need a Committee to tell him this. All he could hope for at the end of the hearing was for compassion and understanding; if there was room for these sentiments at all.

"Before we begin, do any of you have any questions?" The Team sat impassive, willing Dr Toth to get on with the programme. They wanted it over and done with. The less they mucked about, the sooner it would end.

"Sgt Greg Parker," the Team's Sargent and chief negotiator stood up. "You're first. We'd like to ask everyone else to wait outside until you're called."

They were led out and Greg sat down again. A bearded former officer with smiling eyes started the proceedings, "Sgt Parker, I'm John Smyth, former SRU but you already know that." The camaraderie between the men wasn't lost on Dr Toth. "Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened prior to First Officer Scarlatti entering the burning building?"

"I was conferring with Detective Inspector Mark James of RCMP's IPOC Unit. He was briefing me on the identities of the undercover cop and the CI. While we were talking, Officer Scarlatti approached, told me didn't want to stay in the Command Truck. He said Raf should do it."

"What did you say?"

"I said negative."

"Did he argue with you?"

"No, but I also sensed belligerence so I told him it was an order."

"What did he do next?"

"You'd need to ask First Officer Rousseau that."

"When did you learn he wasn't in the Truck?"

"When I asked him to upload the lay-out of the restaurant and Raf answered instead."

Dr Toth interrupted the Q & A. "We have a transcript from the recording." He read it from his copy, "Was that what transpired?" Sgt Parker simply said, "Yes."

"Why, may I ask, did you not turn on your radio before this?"

"Dr Toth, it wasn't deliberate. I was at that time in discussion with DI James, eventually all of us would have turned on our radios."

Another member of the Panel, a serving RCMP Officer asked, "When Rousseau said 'Boss, I know how to use the computer but I don't know where to find the information', did you at that point felt the operation was in jeopardy?"

Sgt Parker exhaled deeply, "Yes but.." Dr Toth stopped him expounding on his answer, "Sgt Parker, you have answered the question." Greg reddened, he wanted to say there was no issue in the end because there were only two fire exits anyway and both were known to the firemen.

"From your recollection what happened next?"

"We heard Officer Braddock say that Spike… Officer Scarlatti, had run into the burning building."

Dr Toth leafed through the transcript, "Wouldn't it be more accurate to say that before that Officer Ed Lane, the Team Leader, in fact ordered him to go back to the Command Truck?"

"You have the transcript, what does it tell you," Parker fired back, struggling to keep his temper in check. Dr Toth took him up on that, "As you wish, 'Spike! Get back in the Truck now. Right Now!' This was followed by Officer Braddock, 'Ed, Ed! Spike's run into the burning restaurant'."

They were all quiet, Scarlatti's guilt was established. The rest of the Panel although sympathetic had no choice but to concede with the finding of "insubordination" beyond reasonable doubt.

"I don't see the point in carrying on with this charade," Dr Toth pointedly told the Panel and Sgt Parker. "The only thing left to do is to determine whether Officer Scarlatti is fit to remain with the SRU; whether he can in fact be trusted to be objective in future operations. It seems, Sgt Parker, that Officer Scarlatti has a predisposition for disobeying orders."

Parker objected very strongly, "Your last statement Dr Toth is prejudicial. I need it to be on record that we debrief all our calls and we have, as a Unit, determined there were no instances of insubordination on his part previously. There is no need to rehash old plots." The psychologist didn't argue instead he asked for the Team to be called in.

The Team wondered why they were being called in so soon. They looked to Sgt Parker for a hint, but saw none. The Boss sat stony faced. Dr Toth waited until all were seated, and in a rather authoritarian way said, "We have determined based on Sgt Parker's testimony and based on the transcript of the recording that First Officer Scarlatti was guilty of insubordination, of disobeying direct orders. Not one but two, the first Sgt Parker and the other from Team Leader, Officer Ed Lane."

The Team expected the finding but it still didn't prepare them for what they'd feel. Angry. Sad. Jules clenched her fists and expelled some air. Dr Toth observed the reaction. Sam stared straight ahead, consciously boring a hole in the wall. Raf wordlessly said, "Fuck" and Ed… his eyes did the talking… if looks could kill. Only Spike appeared resigned, his career may be over. It seemed to happen in slow motion, they heard Dr Toth's parting words that morning, "This hearing is adjourned. Be back at 2 this afternoon."

Spike stood up first, the rest followed. When the room dislodged them, their faces said it all. Then something none of them expected happened.

_If you must know what happened... please read the next chapter. _


	24. A Day of Two Halves

**A Day of Two Halves**

The first half of the hearing lasted a mere hour and a half. And it was nothing but doom and gloom. In ninety minutes it seemed the game was all but over. As they exited the room, five well-dressed men and one beautifully styled woman quickly homed in on them, Sgt Parker and TL Ed Lane were immediately on the alert. If this media throng was after a story and an interview they're in the wrong place but it soon became clear these guys weren't journalists.

One of the men was heard saying, "Mr Scarlatti." _What the hell_, thought Sam Braddock when the man pushed him out of the way to reach Spike. The man tapped Spike on the shoulder. Jules wasn't amused. "Officer Scarlatti to you, thank you very much" said a very feisty, combative, not in a good mood Officer Callaghan.

He stood corrected, "Officer Scarlatti," he shoved a gold-edged business card to Spike's left hand. "Oliver Reed, head hunter for Surveillance International." He went for Spike's bandaged right hand which made the SRU guy yelped, "Oh, sorry about that. I'm here to make an employment offer…"

"Hold your horses there, honey," they all looked at the source of the voice. The woman was a vixen. She was in a simple tight-fitting red A-line dress and red three-inch stiletto heels. "Officer Scarlatti, Jennifer Stone. President, Security International." She handed him a thick envelope, he accepted it which was a mistake. The others saw and now gathered around Spike, each handing him an envelope, a business card, a folder; everyone clamouring for his attention.

"Who are these people?" whispered Joe to Leslie. She lifted two open palms to indicate _who knows_.

Ramrod-straight Commander Holleran appeared on the Lobby, separated Spike from the throng. "Excuse me, all of you, you can all leave now. Officer Scarlatti is not going anywhere. You," he pointed him chin at the Vixen, "Have we not warned you not to make any further approaches to our people?" She smiled sweetly back, "Come on, commander, I have a position for you, too. Would you like to have lunch with me? We'll discuss it." The Commander was annoyed to be toyed with, he called the guards, "Throw these people out and lock them out."

Not dissuaded, the President of Security International laughed and said, "It's a free world. It's an open market. Officer Scarlatti, you have my business proposal. If they give you a hard time, you know who to call." Feeling cheeky, Billy said, "I'm his business manager, you can talk to me." She grabbed everything from Spike, "I'm reading these."

Holleran shifted his attention to Sgt Parker, "I came over as soon as I heard the vultures were circling. We've lost five good people to this mob in the last six months alone. All five, experts in their field, now working across the border. We can't afford to lose more."

The Commander looked at Billy who was not known to him, "Hand them to me." Billy was going to resist but the Team spoke with their eyes, collectively, _hand them over_. The Tiny Aussie huffed, "Ok, handing them over."

The members of the Panel witnessed the "recruitment" attempt at the Lobby. Everyone watched Commander Holleran and Dr Toth closely, searching for clues. But both men appeared restrained with their facial expressions and body movements. At any rate, they now felt HOPE. It seemed the Committee may not be inclined to terminate Spike from the SRU.

"See you all at two," was all Dr Toth said. Commander Holleran addressed Spike personally, "I'll be in there going to bat for you. I don't do this often. No, in fact, I'm doing this for the first time. Don't make me regret it." He nodded to all, "Enjoy your lunch."

"Well, it's just a bit past 11, the earliest lunch I'll have in my career."

"Hey, Wordy!" Spike was pleased to see his former friend and partner in crime at the Task Force. They hugged and thumped each other on the back, hard. "Geez, that was over quickly. Did I miss anything?" Big Kev "Wordy" Wordsworth asked.

Jules grabbed his arm and turned him around, "We'll tell you all about it at lunch." They headed for the exit and were immediately met by the "meat traders". Ed sighed. "Boss, want me to get my rifle?" Greg smiled, "If they persist, we'll call Team 3. Donna can call Scorpio."

A geek-looking guy was fast on his feet, "Brian Alder, Head of R and D for Comp-Tech International, please take this." He offered Spike a thick envelope, Billy grabbed it, "I'm his manager." Alder switched his attention to her. The rest continued walking, "What's your name?"

"Billy Cameron," she cheekily added, "If I can persuade him to sign, what's my commission?"

"Oh," the geek adjusted his eyeglasses, "equivalent of six percent of his gross salary, the cash component." Billy was shocked, "The rest is not cash?" Geek Alder said, "No. It's a package. Part of his salary is a car and apartment of his choice; paid holidays and shares in the company."

"Now, you're talking." Billy saw she's been left behind so she ran after them. The meat traders were still tailing the group. They made it to the restaurant in one piece. They were early so they got a table in the far corner. The mad meat traders each chose a table nearby and got busy with their iphone, ipad and other gadgety stuff.

Spike's iphone went haywire. "What the hell's that?" said Joe. Spike fished it out of his pocket. "Wha?" he brows knitted, "They're emailing me copy of contract." They all laughed. Billy opened the envelope, read the summary of offer, and whistled. "You should take this job offer." Sgt Parker grabbed it, "He's not going anywhere."

Billy protested, "Hey, you just lost me my $6,000."

"What $6,000?"

"My commission is 6% if I can persuade him to sign up." More laughter, it wasn't as if they're giving Spike up for anyone.

Everyone ordered their favourite and teased Spike about paying for the damage. "No, I have a better idea," said Jules. "Let's get those guys to foot the bill. Sign up fee." They thought it was brilliant, "but probably against regulation" said Sgt Parker. That put an end to their little scheme. The lunch was also the longest in their career, two hours. At 15 to two, they headed back.

When they reached the lobby, Leslie hooked an arm around Spike's waist. They haven't talked for awhile. Leslie, full of guilt and he full of himself. Not thinking of others. Just wallowing in "poor me." He responded by wrapping her in his arms, it melted some of the hardness away. He felt himself thawing. She whispered, "Let's hope the second half of the day is much better." He kissed the top of her head, "Yes, little one, let's hope."

The hearing started again on time. Dr Toth, on behalf of the Panel, welcomed them to the hearing. "We're here to determine Officer Scarlatti's suitability to remain in the SRU. You all offered to give your testimony. We decided to pick just four people or we'll be here forever. Officers Ed Lane, Sam Braddock and Raf Rousseau, and Commander Holleran. You have 10 minutes each to say your piece and answer any questions the Panel might have. We will do this one at a time, starting with Commander Holleran." They all left the room.

By their collective reckoning, it should all be over by around 5pm. However, they don't expect the Panel to submit their recommendation til Monday next week, a good week-end would be thrown into mulling over Michaelangelo Scarlatti's fate.

Spike noticed Billy distanced herself from the group and dialled a number, "Hey," she said, "how are you doing?" She listened intently for the answer, "Do you want to speak to him?" Spike saw her look in his direction, he had a feeling. "You sure?"

They chatted some more. When Billy hanged up, Spike went over, "Win?" She nodded, "Hope you don't mind. I promised her I'll let her know what's happening." Billy pulled him away, "It's not as grim as you think it would be. You know, mate, you don't have to be perfect to be loved."

Spike nodded, "Yeah, someone once told me, love isn't deserved."

"You bet, because if we have to deserve it, love's not what's coming to us. Love's given. Accept it."

"Someone once told me that, too."

They sat quietly. Billy turned around, rested her back on his. In the end, they sat back-to-back. Spike's iphone beeped again, they sighed. He took it out of his pocket ready to delete the message, he saw the sender's name. "Billy, I've got to go."

"Don't you want to hang around to find out how it ends today?"

"No. Billy I don't care anymore. Right now, there's a place I'd rather be."

She swore that Spike skipped out of the building, the team glanced at his retreating form, then at Billy who shrugged her shoulder, the look on her face said, "I haven't got a clue."

_Where is Spike going? If you want to know…. please read the next chapter._


	25. Flight of the Butterfly

**Flight of the Butterfly**

The message came from Bellisimo Jeweller, a small boutique shop near home, "Come collect," it said. The owner, a long-time family friend Don Alessio, grinned widely when Spike came in. "Ciao, como stai Michaelangelo."

"Bene, grazie," he replied. "E tu?"

The older Italian said, "Buono, ma la mia schiena fa ancora male." Spike teased the jeweller, "You're getting old. You should stop chasing women so your back can stop hurting." Don Alessio punched him on the arm, "Ouch."

"O… sorry, what happened?," he asked with concern when he saw Spike's bandaged right hand and the blotchy facial and neck skin. "Long story," was the short answer. The jeweller didn't persist, if Officer Scarlatti did not want to say, then no one needed to know.

Don Alessio went to the back room where he kept the safe. He came back with a small box. He opened it. A ring with two coloured diamonds, one blue, one green, was revealed. Blue was his colour, the colour of sea and sky. Green was hers, the colour of nature. The two diamonds were pear shaped, and sat on a platinum ring with the tapered end kissing so the diamonds looked like the open wings of a butterfly. Spike designed it himself.

It symbolised metamorphosis, the becoming. From cocoon to a beautiful winged creation. To him, it was a representation of their journey and the colours represented where this journey would take them. The ring mesmerised him, it was beautifully done. Don Alessio studied his client's face, assessing whether he liked it. Spike smiled and thanked him, "It's beautiful."

"She'll like it," the jeweller said. "It's one of a kind." Spike exhaled, now he just has to find her. "I have to go." The jeweller himself was caught up in the excitement, "Finally, I never thought I'd see you here. I'll be sure to tell your Momma." Spike stopped, "Just kidding," said the jeweller, "not my business but be sure to tell her, ok?"

"Like she doesn't know," he said. "Ciao."

He pocketed the box, called Billy, "Where is she?"

Little Billy was surprised, "Ok, I must have said something right. But mate I honestly don't know." Scarlatti was exasperated, "Billy, I'm not kidding, where is she?"

"And I'm not kidding, I don't know. Oh, call Steph. They were together when I phoned."

Spike called Steph, "Hello, stranger," she answered. "Hi," he said, "Steph, can I speak with Win… please." Silence.

"Well, I don't think that's possible."

He was being made to pay, and he deserved it so he put up with what he thought was the girls' way of making him sweat. "Steph, I know I've been a jackass but please… can I please speak to her." Steph smiled to herself, _well, that's a lot of pleases in one sentence._

"Spike, you can't. She's on a plane."

He didn't think he heard it correctly, "Did you say plane as in P. L. A. N. E.?" Steph chuckled, "Yes. As in Air Canada."

"To where?"

"Australia."

"Australia?" Spike went to his mental filing cabinet and opened the drawer called "Atlas". "That's just under 8,000 miles away (under 13,000 km), depending on where she's going. What's she going to do there?"

"Spike, she just said she has to get away."

"Get away? 8,000 miles away?"

"Well, she said Canada is too small for both of you. The way she explained it to me you cast a long shadow. I supposed what she means by that is there's nowhere she can go here without bumping into someone who knows you."

"Do you know where she's going?"

"I asked but she wouldn't tell. There's an Aussie in your circle, right? Why don't you ask her? She might know something."

"Ok," he said, "Steph, thank you and I'm sorry for all the troubles I caused."

"Don't worry about it. Just find her. Bring her back home. I'm missing her already."

He hanged up and called Billy again, "Did you find her?" she asked. "Billy, come on, don't play dumb with me. Where is she going?"

"What do you mean where is she going?"

Spike exhaled, "Billy, she's on a plane as in right now to Australia." Little Billy was rendered momentarily speechless, "Wow, she didn't tell me." He didn't want to waste any more time, the longer the distance she has on him, the less likely he'd find her so he switched off his phone and headed home.

He used logic, common sense. Billy spoke to Win around 2pm. Steph mentioned Air Canada. _Which one travels to Australia?_ He used Google and found AC 7516 that left Toronto at 14:15 via Montreal and then Vancouver_. It gets to Vancouver at 20:24. She must have been boarding when Billy was speaking to her on the phone._

He debated with himself, _should I get a flight to Sydney or get a domestic flight to Vancouver_ ? Vancouver won. He searched online, there's a Canada Air leaving Toronto Airport at 18:00, arriving at 19:57. That gave him enough time, just cutting it. He booked it, saved the ticket in his iphone. Adrenaline was pumping out of his adrenaline glands. He threw some clothes in a sports bag. 16:00, he called a cab.

Spike got to the airport at 17:00, the peak hour traffic was a joy killer. He checked in, and called Binary, member of Geeks United who was in charge of Airport security. She was delighted to hear from him, "Binary, I need your help. Can you scan for a passenger in the name of Winnie Camden? I think she may have left Toronto for Sydney via Montreal and Vancouver, I just want to be 100% sure."

She searched the Airport database, "Yup, she's currently in Montreal, do you want me to have her detained at Vancouver Airport? I can arrange that," she said proudly. She was one of the truly powerful in the country. She could get anyone detained, lucky she's not one to exercise her power needlessly. "Nah," he said feeling a little better now, "thanks, girl. I'll catch up with you later I have a plane to catch. Just make sure mine departs on time."

"Well, if it's an engine problem there's nothing I can do. Take care."

Back at the hearing, all four had given their statements and answered questions to the Panel's satisfaction. The group were left to wonder what happened to Spike. They tried calling but it kept going to voice mail. Billy kept mum; she didn't want to be questioned when she didn't know the answers.

They decided there was no point wondering. Wordy went home to his girls, Ed went to watched Clark play hockey. Sgt Parker went to catch up with Marina and Dean. Sam and Jules went to see a movie. Raf and Billy went home to make love, not war.

Leslie and Joe went home to Momma's cooking.

DI James went to see someone special to hammer the last nail on Paul Bullard's coffin, Angelica Delaney fell into his magic spell. _Or was it the other way around?_

Spike boarded AC115, it lifted off on time at 18:00. He prayed he finds her before she boarded her connecting flight to Sydney. A diabolical thought crossed his mind, if she boarded before he could get to her, he'll arrange for Binary to detain the whole plane. Oh, it better not get to that!

By some twisted fate, the plane took off while the music played. The station he was listening to was playing, "Leaving on a Jet Plane." He turned off the radio when it got to "Don't know when I'll be back again."

He turned it off and muttered to himself, "Tomorrow. We'll be back tomorrow." If only he was feeling as hopeful as he tried to sound.

_Will they meet in Vancouver? Or will they be sleepless in Sydney? Maybe not Sydney? Please read the next chapter. _


	26. Sleepless in Vancouver

_Momma Senna and Paula first appeared in the story "A Pleasant Surprise", particularly the chapters entitled "Seven Days of Goodbye" and "The Final Crossroad". Paula was featured again in the story called "Treasures". _

**Sleepless in Vancouver**

AC115 landed in Vancouver at precisely 20:00, just 0:03 minutes out of schedule. Spike decided to make it easy on himself. He was dead tired. His body was screaming in pain and emotionally, well, he was feeling rather raw. The plan was to keep it simple, he will have her paged and that was exactly what he did when he disembarked.

Air Canada flight from Montreal to Vancouver with connecting flight to Sydney arrived at 20:30, just 0:06 minutes out of schedule. So far, so good. As soon as the brake on the plane was applied, the pilot made an announcement, "Would Miss Winnie Camden please come forward to the front of the plane?" The passenger stood up with her hand carry and came to the front as instructed. The Chief Flight Crew greeted her warmly, "Madame, there's someone who'd like to meet you? Please follow me." Winnie was escorted out of the plane, bewildered and rather bemused.

Spike waited at the Air Canada Member's Lounge, a gesture of goodwill from the Airline to a decorated police officer from an elite unit. He was resting his head on the knuckles of his hand when he heard a voice, "Officer Scarlatti?", he looked up immediately. He smiled at the Air Canada staff, "Yes?" The staff turned around, "I have with me Miss Winnie Camden."

His heart fell down to his gut, this Winnie Camden was at least 65, his face betrayed his emotions. The staff had done his duty and hastily retreated, whatever was about to happen he didn't want to be a part of. Miss Camden however had a feeling. She sat down next to Spike, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm not the Winnie you were expecting, right?"

He rested his elbows on his knees; his head on his folded arms, and rocked himself in agony. "I have a son your age," she said. Spike didn't move_. Everything hurts_. "Honey, do you know her legal name? Winnie is usually a nickname, it just happened to be my legal name. She may still be here, you know."

Spike looked up to thank her. He was teary-eyed so Miss Winnie Camden got tissues out of her handbag, "My connecting flight to Sydney would be boarding soon. Son, I hope you find her." He stood up when she did, this brought on a smile, "A gentleman, she said, "rare these days." Spike was left to rue the loss of his love.

After what seemed like forever, Spike turned on his phone and scrolled down the list of contacts, Mrs Senna was listed as Momma Senna, this was as good a time as any to visit her. "Momma, its Spike." The old woman's voice was full of life and excitement to hear from him, and when he said he's in Vancouver she insisted for him to stay with her, "Pity Paula is in Paris. She would have loved to see you, too." He didn't want to disappoint so he said he was coming to stay for a couple of days, _what the hell…,_ he had no return ticket to Toronto anyway.

He arrived at the Senna residence ready to collapse from exhaustion. Momma was horrified to see the looks of him, "Oh mio Dio, Michaelangelo, come in." She led him straight to the dining room where she had already laid out a feast. That's when he realised he was very hungry. "Eat," she said. She sat with him and ate a little so he didn't feel self-conscious. When he was done, she insisted on cleaning up, "I will take you to your room and we can talk tomorrow."

They reached the door to the guest room, he gave her a peck on the cheek, "Grazie, Momma. Buonanotte." He undressed and ran the bath, a good soak, that's what he needed right now. His muscles were aching like hell. He started to relax a little, and it unknotted the wires of his brain, _Guinevere, her legal name is Guinevere. _It was one of the things he liked about her, the beauty of her name. He once told her, "Why'd you want to be called Winnie, when you can be Guinevere?" He delighted in the remembrance.

When Spike's Vancouver-bound plane was in the air, Win was indeed in Montreal for a quick catch-up with a friend and had been there for a couple of hours. At 19:15, she was already boarding a flight for London where she'd be staying at a friend's house for a week. From there, she would fly to Melbourne. From Melbourne she would take a ferry to Tasmania. When she reached Tasmania, she would hide from the world in a remote and beautiful place called Cradle Mountain.

She chose it because of the name, that's what she needed. She needed to be cradled, she's an earth person. A nature person. Surrounded by its pristine beauty she hoped to heal her wounds. She sort of smiled to herself, there were many places as beautiful and pristine in Toronto, _why fly so far away? _She answered her own question,_ because you casts a long shadow._

She would arrive at Heathrow Airport at 7:30 in the morning, _long flight this_, she thought. She had window seat, she looked out at the darkness and wondered how Spike was doing. _Has he eaten?_ She looked at the time, 10pm in Toronto_. Is he sleeping?_ _Here I am wondering about him and he probably doesn't even care if I got run over by a truck._ She exhaled deeply, expelling air from her belly. The man next to her turned to look, so felt slightly embarrassed.

Spike tried to sleep, but couldn't. He remembered his prescription drug, a pain reliever. He popped two in his mouth. Soon, he was drowsy and eventually fell asleep.

He heard shuffling noise. He opened his eyes, and took everything in. Nothing looked familiar then he remembered he wasn't home. He looked at the time, 05:00. He gingerly got out of bed, changed into something halfway decent. He didn't know what exactly he packed; he was in such a rush to catch up with Win that he dumped whatever in his sports bag.

Momma Senna was in the kitchen making coffee for herself, "Buon journo, Momma." The charming woman repeated the greetings back to him, "Coffee." He nodded, "Did you sleep well?" He nodded. "Would you like to have breakfast?" He nodded.

Momma laughed out loud, "If you don't stop nodding and start talking, you might pop your head loose." He laughed with her. She's so much fun to be with. They ate in peace; when they got around to their second cup of coffee the inquisition begun. It started with "Why you look like shit?" to "So, what brought you here?"

He didn't think it would be fair to lie to her so he told the truth, "I like Winnie," she said, "If not for her, I wouldn't see you."

He quickly corrected her, "I'd have come to visit… eventually."

She looked at him like he had horns, "To attend my funeral?" she said.

He was going to protest but saw the glint in her eyes, "You know I'll eventually come see you." She stood up, ruffled his hair, and said, "I know. Walk with me? It's the only exercise I get to do now."

"Sure," he said. So, they went walking around the block in this beautiful suburb in Vancouver where lawns were manicured and the only noises to be heard were dogs barking. By the time they reached home, she was tired. He was anxious that his visit had taxed her and he said so. "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm enjoying your company."

Around this time the Air Canada plane has landed in Heathrow. She waited for the carousel to spit out her checked-in luggage, walked to the Underground to take a train to Piccadilly and purchased a Travelcard with her credit card.

09:00, _Binary should be in the office now_. He excused himself, Momma said, "Go do what you need to do." The girl geek answered her phone on the first ring, "What now," she said abruptly. He was taken aback, "Do you want me to call back? Sounds like bad timing."

"You said it, it's a long story and I'm not allowed to discuss it with you. Did you find Winnie?"

"No," he went on to tell the story. It tickled Binary's funny bone. "Seriously, you forgot her legal name? That's one for the record book." Spike took the ribbing good naturedly, "Help me track Guinevere Camdem, please."

"Are you sure this is her name," she was enjoying teasing Spike. "Ok, a Guinevere Camden left Toronto yesterday for Montreal at 14:45; took a connecting flight to Heathrow, Air Canada which left yesterday at 19:40 and arrived at 07:30 today. She's in London now. She departs for Melbourne in a week's time."

"Thanks Binary. I owe you one."

"No, two. You owe me two. But who's counting, right?" They chatted some more and admonished each other to be careful before ending the call.

Next Spike called JD, told him the short version, "Can you track if Win used her credit card anywhere?"

JD feeling high and mighty said, "Are you sure that's legal? It's a shade stalking you know?"

"Will you quit it? It's a matter of national security."

"What? That's a stretch." JD was so totally enjoying torturing Spike.

"No it's not because I will send you a bomb parcel if you don't do as I ask."

JD who had a total crush on Win said, "Ok, is this finder's keeper?"

Spike exhaled, "If you ever come near Win with less than honourable intent, I will shoot you."

"You're becoming violent in your old age," the teener remarked.

Spike's fuse had considerably shortened, "JD! NOW!"

"Ok, doing it. She used her credit card to buy a TravelCard at Heathrow. Buddy, I don't how that helps you."

"Thanks, JD. I owe you one."

"No, two. You owe me two. But who's counting right?" They chatted some more and admonished each other to be careful. "Good luck finding her."

Spike rejoined Momma Senna and told her what he has discovered so far, she reached for his hand, "Go to London. You will find her, I know, you will." It was all the encouragement he needed to hear. At 10:30 am, Spike was at Vancouver Airport buying a ticket for London.


	27. Circus in Piccadilly on a Sunday

**Circus in Piccadilly on a Sunday**

The earliest flight Spike could book was departing at 15:00 via Calgary, arriving in Heathrow at 10:15, Sunday. He wished she'd gone into hiding across the border instead. London was so far away but if he failed to catch her there, he'd have to fly all the way to Melbourne for the chase. It didn't bear thinking about. She's been flying for hours so reaching her by cell phone had been next to impossible. Now, if it's turn to be flying for hours.

He had three hours to kill at the Airport, he used his charm and requested to be let into Air Canada's Member's Lounge, access was granted to him. He found an available computer, logged on to his Facebook account and discovered Win "unfriended" him. _Great._ He went about his search in a circuitous way. He clicked on Billy's FB timeline. Win had posted a message to say she has arrived and uploaded a photo with two old friends from Montreal taken near Shaftesbury Avenue. The street sign was visible. She was smiling in the photo but the eyes were distant. He hoped they haven't booked her on a UK or European tour, "please stay put," he murmured to himself as he stroked the face on the monitor.

He checked Twitter, Win had disconnected her account. He tried to call her; it was out of reach he guessed she probably has a UK number by now; and, her Canadian SIM card no longer active til she returned home. There was nothing else he could do but try to get a bit of rest.

He ordered lunch as he didn't fancy eating cardboard airline food. While waiting for his food to be served, he called Greg Parker, "Hey, Boss." If Parker was surprised he didn't show it, "Spike, where are you?" _Here we go again_, he thought. "Vancouver… waiting for a flight to London. Boss, sorry to leave in a hurry, I just need to be with Win." Greg felt for him so despite the fact he wanted to chew his ear off, he didn't.

They spoke for nearly an hour, probably the longest they spoke on the phone that didn't touch on work, just personal stuff. Nearing the end of their conversation Greg let on that he didn't forward Win's resignation letter to Personnel, "it's in my drawer but I submitted a month's leave without pay for her." Spike let out a sigh of relief that was the best news he's heard in awhile. "Thanks Boss," he said, "I'll try to bring her back home." Greg jokingly said that if he couldn't he shouldn't bother coming back to Toronto himself. Spike laughed in spite of how awful he felt. He heard the public announcement, "Boss, I've got to go, my plane's boarding. Give my regards to everyone." His Boss said, "You'll find her. I know you will."

Win was jet lagged but she refused to give in to sleepiness, the sooner she got adjusted the better she'd feel. So although she felt rather groggy from lack of sleep, she forced herself to stay up. She arrived on a Saturday morning so her friends were quite excited to show her around, they being off work till Monday.

She enjoyed the tour of the City, particularly Piccadilly Circus, it's a girl's paradise with many shops to feast her eyes on. She's known her friends Olivia and Carole, since they were in High School. They were the first people she called when she left Apartment 8. She couldn't tell her parents how badly she was feeling, they would be very disappointed with Spike and she didn't want that. Steph had been aware of the many dramas but was not really aware how badly it got to.

She loved Spike and didn't want people who knew them both to learn of their domestic in case it changed the way they view him as a man and as a person. Olivia and Carole didn't know him so they were safe, when she told them she's booked a long-promised flight to visit them in London, they were beside themselves.

So here she is in the middle of Piccadilly, the streets were teeming with people. She thought Toronto was crowded, _this is crowded_, she thought to herself. The place was so charming and quaint and old and modern at the same time. She wished Spike was with her to see these things, when she realised what she just wished for, she mentally gave herself a kick in the backside.

At one point, she just desperately wanted to be alone, just to lick her wounds she supposed. But she just arrived so she postponed the desire to go off on her on. _Maybe tomorrow._

Spike reached Calgary at 20:20, boarded AC862, a connecting flight for London at 21:55. I wouldn't want to see the inside of another plane for a long, long time, he thought. He determined to fall asleep whatever turbulence occurred, he put his headphone on, popped two pain killers, washed it down with water, covered his eyes with a sleep masks. Thankfully, combined with the previous exhaustion and several days of fitful sleep, he went out like a light.

When Spike woke up it was Sunday_, nearly there_, he felt refreshed and encouraged. Soon, he would see her again. He felt his pocket for the box, he nearly had a heart attack when he thought he might have misplaced it. "What did I do with it?" He smiled when he remembered that it was in his sports bag, he checked underneath him, it was there.

The plane landed at exactly 10:15. He did what Win did he went and purchased a Travelcard from the Underground. He didn't have to wait long, the people, tourists and locals alike, were six deep inside the transport. _It's a very busy place and here I thought Toronto was busy._

Win left the flat without Olivia and Carole, both were still sleeping. She left them a handwritten note to say she's gone out for a walk and will be back just after lunch. She also invited them to dinner, "I'm paying" she said.

Spike reached Piccadilly Circus in less than 40 minutes. He calculated the odds of finding Win in a city so packed full of people at all hours of day and night and not knowing where to start looking. The odds weren't good. He sat under the statue of the Angel of Christian Charity, which he read in his guide book was "renamed" Eros, after the Greek god of Love. He sat there looking forlorn and love torn, he opened his guide book again and looked at the list of restaurants he thought Win might try. He put his hand inside his jacket pocket to search for a pen when he felt the tracker device instead. His heart jumped. He turned on the tracker and hoped against hope that Win was still wearing her bracelet. He looked at the Angel of Christian Charity and prayed to Lord Shaftesbury, not that he was a Saint, _please help me find her._

He gave himself an hour, if there was no sign of Win after an hour, he would call everyone in Toronto and harass them to give up Win's current whereabouts and number. _One of them ought to know._ He watched the people, watched the buses and the cars and the birds. Less than five minutes to his deadline, a light came on the tracking device. It took all of his self-control not to shout out loud and jump up and down Piccadilly Circus. He hasn't felt this joyful since he received his first chemistry set as a nine year old.

He stood up and followed the beeping. _There, _ he could see her now, browsing in a bookstore, he watched her from a distance. He saw her tilt her head up to look at some postcards. It was divine the way she did that.

She lost weight her wrist watch now hang like a bracelet around her left wrist. He watched her twist her wrist around to see the time. Her fingers looked bony and long. He wanted to just grab her hand and kiss her fingertips.

She was wearing a scarf around her neck, a sailor style blouse and dressed pants. And a pair of white laced up running shoes.

He watched her enter the bookstore and pay for some postcards. She looked at the shop windows and went inside a toy store. There she was, he saw her hug a huge teddy bear, looked at it almost longingly but decided to put it back on the shelf after the hug test.

She came out of the shop. It's now or never! He slowly, so as not to spook her, approached. She saw him but it didn't register to her that the man who looked like Spike was Michealangelo Scarlatti. After all, she left him behind in Toronto. She stopped, she looked, she smiled, she knitted her brows, and she still wasn't certain. It's the hair, same facial features, same patches of discoloured skin from burns. _Can it be? No, it can't._

Spike realised Win was confused, so he raised his hand, wiggled it so she could see the tracking device. She put one hand in her mouth. He came closer and pulled her in for a long, long hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't live without you." So, in the middle of a stifling crowd, on a Sunday in a circus called Piccadilly, Spike and Win found love again.


	28. Your Hand in Mine

**Your Hand in Mine**

He hugged her, unable, unwilling to let her go. When he finally released her, he wondered if it was all a dream so he touched her face and she kissed his hand. "I don't know what to say," he said, drowning in emotion. It was Win who sensed that people were being inconvenienced by them standing on the footpath, blocking everybody's way. She pulled him along to find a spot away from the madding crowd.

So, in the most unromantic setting of all; in the midst of the rushing crowd, amongst the debris of shopping bags and littered cigarette butts, Spike proposed. He went down on one bended knee, "Will you marry me?" he offered the ring he had secretly made and waited, _please don't say no_. She smiled and said, "Yes." The proposal didn't go unnoticed. As he stood up to slip the ring on her finger the gathered crowd applauded. A tourist took a photo of the moment and kindly uploaded it to Spike's phone. "Congratulations mate," he said.

"What should we do next?" he asked his bride-to-be. She could only laugh at the bewildering speed by which her life went from being with Spike, to being without him, to being engaged to him. She thought if this was going to be how she'd live her life from on, she'd better hold on for dear life_. It certainly beat riding a roller coaster_, she thought.

"Well, I better introduce you to my friends." They walked down to the subway to catch the train home. Olivia and Carole were awake and getting the flat ready for a party, "Hey, glad you're back. We're inviting some people over to meet you." The girls noticed Spike standing behind Win and wondered how their friend managed to picked up a stranger. Win introduced Spike as "my fiancé". The girls looked at each other. "Did you say fiancé?" clarified Carole. Win nodded.

"Well, this calls for a celebration," Carole popped open a champagne bottle. The afternoon was spent in the company of three gorgeous women, but by late afternoon Spike asked Win if she'd go out with him instead. "Leave it with me." Win asked her friends to excuse them, "Of course" they replied. She apologised for leaving them so soon, they said it was ok as long as she was happy.

Win packed a few of her clothes and they left hand in hand, "Where are we going?" she asked when they got to the subway, "Eventually? To Milan," he said, "to see my mother." She stopped in her track, "Oh dear," she whispered. He grinned, "Don't worry, she really likes you."

"First we need to rest properly," so Spike booked them a room at One Aldwych Hotel in Central London, famous for its over 400 pieces of private contemporary art and sculpture on display. She was awed by its grandeur, and the room took her breathe away. "Wow, thank you."

"No, thank you," he said. "None of these would matter without you."

They ordered room service and spent the evening listening to music and just being wrapped in each other's arms. Spike held her hand in his; he looked at how small and fragile her hand was compared to his. They watched the light dance and bounce off the blue and green diamonds. It really did look like a butterfly had come to life.

In the morning, Spike woke up early to book their ticket to Milan online. They would be taking the 14:00 Eurostar to Paris, the Thello Sleeper train to Milan.

He made the grand announcement on Facebook to the delight of everyone in Toronto. "We're engaged," he proudly posted the lone proposal photo taken by the tourist. Congratulations flooded their Facebook and Twitter accounts, but the good news didn't end there.

Paul Bullard's second appeal was denied again. No bail for him. _Nice._

Joe Di Nozzi announced his engagement to Leslie McCoy. Spike fired off a message to say that the engagement was "null and void" because Joe didn't asked him for her hand in marriage first. Joe volleyed back with "but she proposed to me, all I did was accept." That was when Spike became convinced that the little girl he used to know had morphed into an Amazon. So, Spike graciously said, "Congratulations" with a warning to Leslie to go easy on Joe. But their news didn't end there. Leslie has applied to become a full-pledged police rookie. Spike felt a headache coming on.

He called Momma Senna to let her know he found Winnie and told her of their engagement, she was genuinely pleased for them. Next, he called Paula who was in Paris to arrange a meet. The vibrant, happy, gorgeous Paula said she'd be happy to spend time with them. _It's amazing_, he thought, _how all the pieces dropped into place. _

He went online again and booked two nights at L Hotel, located in Paris's Saint Germain-des-Pres - Luxembourg neighbourhood, close to the French Academy, Louvre Museum, and Pont Neuf. Other nearby points of interest were Sainte Chapelle and Orsay Museum.

Winnie woke up to breakfast in bed. It seemed to her that they were now on their honeymoon and she said as much. She called her parents to let them know of her engagement and they were very pleased.

They went out after breakfast to enjoy the City of London, checked out and caught the 14:00 Eurostar for Paris. When they arrived in the city of romance, they dined at the famous Train Bleu Restaurant inside the Gare de Lyon. It was an experience, "the most amazing setting and the most exquisite French cuisine I've ever had," she said. After dinner, they checked it at L Hotel and went out for an evening stroll.

They spent the next day exploring the museums and just basked in each other's company. They enjoyed the company of Paula for dinner.

On their third day in Paris, they shopped for a wedding gown, "Why not?" he said, "This is the city of couture." She chose a simple white dress, one that she could use again. No frills, no laces, no trimmings, just a white floor- length, sheath satin gown with a V neck. She followed tradition and didn't try it on in front of him.

That done they took the Thello sleeper train to Milan, then the butterflies did come alive in her stomach. Spike watched as she fretted, "Don't worry, she loves you already."

Michelina Scarlatti didn't know her son was coming and she especially didn't know about the engagement. Michaelangelo deliberately wanted it as a surprise. He didn't want his mother inviting the whole street to a party. It was enough to have her blessings and to let her in on the best thing that ever happened to him.

Momma Scarlatti didn't know what hit her when they both suddenly appeared at the doorstep. First she worried about "Mikey" and the scars on his face and neck. "What happened?" she wanted to know. She got the abridged, sanitised version. Satisfied that she had nothing to worry about, she turned her attention to Winnie. "Thank you for making my son very happy."

It was a wonder how she managed to organise a feast in such short notice, Spike and Winnie did have an engagement party. When the food and the drinks were consumed and the guests had left, Spike and Win were left slowly dancing by themselves, "Let's get married tomorrow," he whispered.

She looked at him, he was serious, "I'd like that."

They danced until the music stopped playing, until all they could hear were their own voices as they spoke of their hopes and dreams.

"Where were you going if I didn't catch up with you?" he asked.

"Cradle Mountain, Tasmania."

"Cradle Mountain," he repeated. "Let me take you there." She was heart struck, first Paris, then Milan, then the Cradle Mountain. _Wow._

They continued to slow dance to their own voices until it was time to rest their wearied bodies. Momma Scarlatti watched from a distance and hoped for little feet. She hoped earnestly.


	29. Thirty Days of Bliss Courtesy of Dr Toth

**Thirty Days of Bliss Courtesy of Dr Toth**

Spike invited his mother and three other witnesses to come along to City Hall, "Why" they inquired. "We're getting married," he replied.

Momma Scarlatti was scandalised, "Just like that? No preparation." Spike dimpled face beamed at his mother, "It's called eloping. I think," he said his face slightly crunched. Winnie came out of the bedroom looking like a princess in her simple white sheath gown. Momma threw her hands up in the air in surrender, "Let me change." She was going to take one step forward when she suddenly remembered, "Do you have wedding ring?"

Spike looked at his mother, at Win, then back at his mother. "No, but it doesn't matter." He looked at Winnie, "Does it matter?" The look on his face was so funny she burst out laughing, "No, it doesn't." He looked back at his mother, "She said it doesn't matter."

The horrified mother went away to change and came back with two rings. The rings Spike's maternal grandmother and grandfather wore they day they got married; and were only removed the day they were buried side-by-side 50 years on. "May it bring you lasting love," she said as they blessed them.

As it turned out, City Hall required non-citizens to front up at the Registrar four days before getting married so their papers could be verified, no such thing applied to Michaelangelo Scarlatti, he was related to a number of people at City Hall who said, "Che se ne frega? Vogliono sposarsi, lasciarli." Spike translated, "Who cares? They want to get married, let them."

The marriage ceremony was in Italian so Winnie had no clue what went on, she looked at Spike to translate who was in the mood to be funny. In the end, he asked, "Do you want to know what you said yes to?" She heart thumped inside her chest. He raised his eyebrows at her, "You promised to obey me, right or wrong. You promised not to leave me again. You promised to have eight children, all sons. And you promised to…" She pinched him, "No I didn't. And if I promised to obey you, I'm sure it's null and void considering I didn't understand a word you all said."

It was done and dusted in an hour and it was only still 11:00 in the morning. Milan was six hours ahead of Toronto so Spike made a mental note to call Sgt Parker at 15:00 his time. His fate has been decided this he was sure of. He wondered why the Boss didn't mention the outcome when they spoke yesterday. He either didn't want to ruin his day or he was still waiting. They expected the result on Monday, it's now Thursday. Spike didn't dwell on it. The fact it's taken the Panel longer to come to a decision maybe in his favour after all.

They went home to change and to toast the newly-wed. In the meantime, he updated their FB account to show pictures of the marriage ceremony. That done, he asked Winnie for her ticket to Melbourne, they went to a travel agency to see if they could find a seat for him on the same plane for the same destination; and to match the return leg of the journey back to Toronto. "Are you sure about this?" He winked at her, "You're worth it."

The travel agent returned with good news. Spike thanked her and took possession of their tickets. He looked at Win, "I want to see Cradle Mountain with you," he pressed her nose, "Or it wouldn't be worth seeing at all."

Spike invited close family members to meet them for lunch at a restaurant. They announced their trip to Australia, Momma Scarlatti was a shade disappointed that they were leaving so soon. Spike promised her that they would be visiting again and more often.

After lunch, Spike called Sgt Parker to inquire about the Committee's recommendation. But first Greg congratulated him and gave his good wishes to Winnie. "The Committee recommended one month suspension without pay, effective from the day you're cleared for duty. Your doctor's clearance arrived in the internal mail this morning. Looks like you have your honeymoon all laid out for you." Who would have thought Dr Toth would be doing him a favour?

They used the two days they had in Milan wisely to see the sights and to indulge in wonderful Italian cuisine because they both needed fattening up. The last month was hard on them and both lost a lot of weight. Milan was beautiful, exotic and charming. They delighted in the ordinary; to them it wasn't the tour buses and the souvenirs. It was the sceneries of people going about their business they found fascinating, they explored the little nooks and crannies of the old city; browsed in shops and sticky beaked in neighbours' courtyard. They walked till their legs hurt, sampled every unfamiliar food and rejoiced in the company of each other.

The day came to leave Milan, they refused to let Momma Scarlatti take them to the train station. The road was clogged and the chaos too much to deal with. They're taking the Thello sleeper train and the Eurostar Express in reversed. In truth, Spike didn't mind the fast train; it was the long flight he dreaded. The thought of being cooped up inside a tin can across the Pacific filled him with anxiety but he turned to look at Win and thought, _What the hell, it's once in a lifetime._

Spike passed the time reading, sleeping and walking up and down the aisle and silently despairing for the plane to arrive already. Winnie laughed at him and asked whether he was already regretting the decision to take her to Cradle Mountain, he said, "Not yet, but soon." She giggled.

They had a short stop over at Singapore. Changi International Airport was a destination in itself. The break helped revive Spike's flagging spirit. He hasn't sat for longer than four hours at a time since leaving High School at 15. "My butt is out of practice," he said. "I'm sure I'll have callouses in my buttocks for sitting too long."

They spend five days in Melbourne; found the people and the weather to be similar to Toronto, just less windy and less cold. The day to sail "The Spirit of Tasmania" came. "Wow, it feels amazing, the anticipation is killing me" said Spike. His child-likeness bubbling to the surface, it was nice to see him playful, inquisitive, and generally happy again.

Cradle Mountain didn't disappoint. Their first thought on arriving and seeing the vista was, "It's like being in the Lord of the Rings," although they knew that was shot in New Zealand. The scenery that unfolded before them was majestic. There wasn't a word in the dictionary that could reasonably describe it in all its glory. Standing outside their rented hut one day, looking at the views, Winnie exclaimed, "It's breath taking." And that was before they embarked on the walk of a lifetime.

They did the Overland Track Walk, a six day trek, travelling 65 kilometres through the heart of the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area. The track from Cradle Mountain to Lake St Clair took hikers through spectacular dolerite mountains, beautiful waterfalls, through a variety of fascinating ecosystems and close to Tasmania's highest mountain, before finishing at Australia's deepest lake, Lake St Clair. Being physically fit helped tremendously because the six day trek wasn't for the faint hearted.

They spent 20 days in paradise before embarking on the way home starting from Tasmania to Melbourne to Singapore to Montreal to Toronto.

They spent days in paradise but there's no place like home. Spike carried his bride across the threshold they crossed many times before, but what the heck! They literally fell down on the bed unable to move a muscle, then Winnie felt a fingertip touched one of hers, and she felt connected to him. Yes, indeed, often it's the little moments that mean more than anything.

-Finito-

P.S. Paul Bullard was still in jail and will be for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, the Toronto Police Benevolent Fund received an anonymous donation of $100,000 to be used for the support of financially struggling men and women of the Force.


End file.
